The Attack of the Unseen Enemy
by keviana
Summary: Robin keeps Gotham safe by himself for 3 days. Batman returns to find the Boy Wonder has cared for everyone, but himself.
1. Already Caught

Disclaimer: I do not own Batman or Robin or anything associated with them.

Robin kept fighting. He knew that he was outnumbered. But since when had numbers ever mattered? The Batman would've agreed, had he been kicking bad guys across the floor with him. Robin caught two of the Joker's goons off-guard with a toss of a smoke bomb as they ran into the room to see what the racket was. He leaped up from the fist-fight with the two in the middle of the poorly-lit hideout and attacked the new goons with kicks and the swift swings of his assault pole. The new goons fell to the ground with concussions. The other two began to recover enough to pull out their guns.

"Didn't your mommas teach you to play nice?" Robin threw sarcastically, as he unleashed two red batarangs in their direction. The goons yelped with pain as they were hit in the wrists. Robin followed with two well-timed somersault and kick combos. When he righted himself, he found two more new goons running into the room yelling with crowbars. "Oh please." Robin grunted, as he launched himself at them. No doubt there were more goons than this in the rest of the hideout. At least the Joker wasn't one of them, Robin smiled to himself. He had already taken care of the clown earlier in the night, along with his newest scheme. The Joker had put up more of a fight than any teenager should be required to take care of. Robin was glad that he had been able to handle it in the Batman's absence. This time Aarkam had better throw away the key, Robin grimly thought to himself as he fought. He was way too tired to even contemplate what would happen if the Joker got out again while the Batman was gone.

Robin finally finished with the goons in the room. He caught his breath while crouched on the ground. His lungs hurt more than they usually did. "Thanks for the workout, Gents." Robin muttered, glaring. He usually felt more lively and witty, but the last few nights had him near his limit. The Batman had made sure, years ago, that Tim Drake was battle-hardened and well-trained before allowing him to accompany him on his patrol. As Robin, he had spent years under the Batman's watchful eyes on cases before the last few nights had been allowed. Robin had been left alone to watch the city while Bruce Wayne, the Batman, had left to attend to an "extremely important situation" in Metropolis. Normally, Bruce would've asked Tim to accompany him. But the Joker had escaped. The Mirror Scarecrow had been sending hate mail. There were two kidnappings the Batman had been asked to help the police with. Oh, and there had been a mysterious shooter hanging around the amusement parks. No, Tim would stay, and as Robin, do as much damage to the list as possible. The final orders were the same that he had heard millions of times before, however, this time, Bruce had said it slowly, as if to ingrain it into Tim's head: Be careful.

Looking up to the door, Robin squinted. Being careful was doing nothing more than leading to longer hours and harder thinking. Bruce would be home soon. He just needed to get through this night. It was nearly half-way over. Once this hideout was completely raided, then he could finish up the loose ends with the amusement park shooter, the Mirror Scarecrow, and then top the morning with pointing the police to the new residence of Cleopatra, the Egyptian Goddess Criminal. She had popped up a day ago. If he was lucky, he could be in bed by sunrise. He wanted it to be sooner. He felt as if each blow he had received in the last few nights were coming back to haunt him. He mildly hurt all over.

Standing, Robin stepped over the fallen Joker henchmen and headed into the next room, highly on guard.

* * *

Alfred Pennyworth was doing the unusual this night: he was waiting anxiously in front of the giant Batcomputer that was in the main chamber of the Batcave. Normally, his anxiety levels would be lower, after all, the Batman was nearly impossible to kill. But tonight was different. Tonight, Robin was out alone for the third night. This worried Alfred. Dick Grayson had been an independent Robin, so Alfred had worried minimally for his safety. The same for Jason Todd, up until his death. But Tim? There was something about this Robin that had Alfred caught in worry. I'm too old for this, Alfred thought to himself wearily. 

It was nearly seven-thirty this bitterly cold morning, and Robin hadn't checked in in three-and-a-half hours. The sun would be rising in less than an hour, lessening the stealth that the boy would have and making his return trip home slightly more risky. Alfred had stayed near the Batcomputer should the young man have needed anything that Alfred could assist with. Of course, the Batcomputer was checking the police scanners for keywords that might indicate that Robin was injured. So far, the young man had done excellently, helping the police capture more bad guys than the teen had had planned for the night.

A sudden beep brought the main screen to the Batcomputer to life, indicating a communiqué from Robin. Alfred straightened in the chair, and hit the answer button.

"Alfred? You there?" Robin's voice sounded strange. Alfred wasn't quite certain what it was, but he tried not to be alarmed.

"Of course, sir." The old butler and previous caregiver to Bruce Wayne answered. He asked carefully, "Are you alright?"

"Hnn. You are psychic, just like Bruce says." Now Alfred was sure that he heard a strangeness in Robin's voice. It was if Robin were drugged.

"Sir, what's wrong?" Alfred managed to ask, keeping his concern under control.

"I'm not sure, Alfred… I feel funny." The teen on the other end paused to take a breath. "And I hurt all over."

Alfred didn't hesitate in his orders. "Sir, you must return to the Batcave immediately. Something is not right."

There was quiet on the other side of the line. Then a weak Robin mumbled, "I don't think I can come back, Alfred... I'm not Nightwing... My motorcycle skills… are only going to get me killed tonight. Everything I look at is all wobbly… Feels it, too… Geez, it's cold out here…"

Alfred started typing on the Batcomputer, waking it's tracking abilities. "Sir, I have your location on screen. Do you think you could manage getting into the Batmobile if I got it to you?"

Again, silence for a moment. "…Yeah. I think so…"

Alfred already had the Batmobile programmed and roaring out of the Batcave when he replied. "Sir, it should be to you in four minutes. It will bring you home as soon as you are in it." He thought for a moment then asked, "Young man, please tell me you are close to the ground."

Robin let out a weary chuckle. "Psychic…"

Alfred repressed a moan. "Sir, how high up are you?"

Silence came from the other side. Then finally, "I think I'm on the Sun Trust Bank… Ugh. Let's just say high enough to be able to see Wayne Industries from here."

Alfred checked the computer quickly. "Sir, that building has sixty-four floors. I assume that you are on the roof?"

More silence, this time longer. Alfred nearly called out him, full of concern, but then Robin muttered, "Yeah. The roof."

Alfred calmed his racing pulse and spoke with an attention edge on his voice, the one that he usually used with Master Bruce when he was being difficult, "Sir, your responses are getting further apart. I think you are getting worse, whatever is going on. Our choices are this. One, you pull yourself together enough to follow my instructions to get you back down to the ground. Or, two, you stay put and I will send up the police."

The silence was an acceptable length this time, as Robin answered, "Let's avoid the police… Get me down."

Alfred then spent the next thirty minutes getting Robin safely off of the roof and onto the ground and into the waiting Batmobile. Luckily, Robin had been aware enough to check his utility belt to be sure it was locked around him and then implement a mountain climber decent down the massive building. Alfred knew that Robin was in no shape to drive, so he made him ride in the passenger seat while the Batmobile had driven him home. Robin hadn't complained. In fact, Robin was silent for the four minute drive to the Batcave.

Alfred was ready for the teen. He had easily set up the medical area in the Batcave with the flip of a switch. Everything that he would need to treat Robin, outside of heart surgery, was available to him. The medical area had two beds in it, but Alfred would only need one.

As the Batmobile came roaring into the Batcave, Alfred moved to where it would stop and waited for the car's cockpit top to slide out of the way. He was met with a scary sight. Robin was laying in the passenger seat, his hair wet and water droplets on his skin and uniform. He was paler than normal and he was shaking in his unconscious state. Something was definitely wrong.

Alfred set to work, relieved that the boy was finally safe in the Batcave. Even if he had been poisoned, this was the best place for him to be.

* * *

From the Authoress: Did you read this? How would I know? Review. 


	2. Guess and Go

Even with little sleep, Alfred was a very capable nurse. He had seen the Batman through so many scrapes, bruises, and abrasions that he almost considered himself an expert in hero repair. Almost. But, then again, how many times were the Batman and Robin sick? Hardly ever. Perhaps that is what concerned the old butler so much. He had seen more man-made illnesses and viruses in force on the two superheroes than a normal doctor would see in a lifetime. That's why as soon as Alfred had Robin secure on a tall treatment bed and covered heavily, he stole away to the Batcomputer and sent an alert to Bruce Wayne. Alfred reasoned that if this turned out to be a normal illness, Mr. Wayne had a right to know what was going on with his ward. However, if it turned out to be a genetically engineered virus, the Batman deserved to know that his sidekick was fighting it alone. The massive computer beeped softly as it sent the message, and Alfred returned to Robin's side.

He spent a few minutes checking the young man's vitals again. There was a fever taking over the teen's body. It probably hadn't helped that he had been fighting and then going out into the freezing cold January air. And on a roof, no less! Alfred checked Robin's pulse twice to be sure that what he thought was going on, was going on: his heart was not resting, it was going fast for the teen being unconscious.

Alfred gently removed Robin's mask, which came off easily due to the sweat that was covering his skin. Tim Drake moaned, but did not open his eyes. Alfred moved to get him out of his gloves and then easily recover him with the blankets. The old butler took the things and put them with his cape which he had removed earlier.

"Alfred?" Tim's weak voice called softly.

Alfred returned to the teen's side. Now, the young man's green eyes, slightly red and glassy, looked up at him tiredly. Alfred smiled reassuringly. "How are you feeling, young one?"

Tim groaned and tried to move, but then stilled. "…Horrible…" He said, breathing heavily. "…What's wrong with me, Alfred?"

"I'm not sure, sir. However, we will find out." Alfred produced a small pad of paper and a pen from his pocket. "Can you remember every place that you went tonight?"

Tim looked miserably at Alfred. "You think one of the baddies…"

Alfred put a hand on Tim's arm. "I'm not sure, Master Tim. I am just trying to cover bases."

Tim nodded and closed his eyes and started reciting slowly. "Car wreck, Addison and 12th, eleven-thirty… fire rescue, Quail and 18th, eleven-forty… the Joker, the power plant, midnight… Joker's hideout… the docks, one-thirty… amusement park shooter… Beck Apartments, two-twenty…" Tim started to recite slower, "Mirror Scarecrow's… hideout… um, somewhere… at three… Poison Ivy… the Museum… four o'clock… Cleopatra's hideout… … 34th and… South Kingsgate… … five-ish… … West Side Gang flare-up… … someplace downtown… … six… … and… the bank robbery… … that bank… … sometime after six…" Tim's voice trailed off and his breathing became quiet, indicating he had passed out.

Alfred finished taking notes and put the pad and pen in his pocket. He then dutifully checked the teen's vitals again. The boy's breathing was steady, but his heart was still beating fast. His temperature had risen a few degrees more, but now he wasn't shaking.

The old butler went to a nearby table and returned with a tray containing a blood-retrieval kit. He set it on the waist-high table next to the treatment bed Robin was on. He quickly readied the boy's left arm with a tie and alcohol swab and proceeded to take four vials of the teen's blood without waking him or stirring him. This was to Alfred's surprise. Alfred knew that there was only one thing that bothered Timothy Drake. Needles. Fortunately, that piece of info was a family secret. The Batman had been amused when he had found out. He had tested it three times until he was certain that Tim wasn't just being cheeky or difficult. Apparently, the Batman hadn't seen too much trouble with the phobia, because he had left it alone. Alfred had been glad that in all of the years of crime fighting there hadn't been a bad guy who fought with needles.

Alfred turned to the laboratory equipment in the medical area and began running tests on the blood samples. If Tim was dealing with a normal illness, the Batcomputer would be sure to find a match and the treatment. If it wasn't a normal illness… Well, Alfred thought, we're going to need the Batman.

* * *

Bruce Wayne awakened in his high-rise hotel's plush and expensive bed. He heard something beeping faintly. He gathered himself quickly, at the same time realizing the noise was his Batcommunicator in his business suit coat's inner pocket. He got out of bed, wearing his pajama pants and no shirt, and walked over to his suit coat which lay on a chair back. 

He pulled out the Batcommunicator. It quieted in his hand as he flipped it open. There were small blinking words on the screen. _CALL HOME._

Bruce Wayne exhaled slowly. He was frowning now, not knowing what to expect. This had been his first time to leave the crime work to Tim. He hoped that he wouldn't be regretting the decision.

He quickly keyed in the code for calling the Batcave on a scrambled signal. The last thing he needed was to be discovered by some Metropolis airwave junkie. The call went quickly through to the Batcave. Alfred's voice answered quickly.

"Alfred? What's going on?" Bruce asked, slipping into his Batman voice. "Is everything alright?"

Alfred's voice betrayed the large amount of stress and concern he was feeling. "Sir, Robin is ill. I am not certain if he caught this illness or if it was a gift. I am running tests on his blood now."

Bruce felt cold suddenly and slightly angry and deeply worried. It was a combination of feelings that he had felt in the past. He knew to identify it as a father's protectiveness. "How bad is he?"

"He is currently unconscious. His temperature is at one-hundred-and-two degrees and rising. He was experiencing achyness and dizziness prior to losing consciousness. His heart rate is nearly ten beats per minute too fast." Alfred reported solemnly.

Bruce took in the information uneasily and began pacing, a habit he thought he had overcome. "Did he have anything on him when he came in last night?"

"Not that I found, Sir. He was wet when he came in, though."

"Did it rain there?" More pacing.

"No sir. But it was foggy."

Bruce stopped pacing and did some traveling time math in his head. "Alfred, I'm coming home early. I should be there in one hour and thirty-two minutes. Can you handle him until I get there?"

"Of course, sir." Alfred sounded slightly indignant. "After all, I handled you for years prior to the boys."

Bruce allowed himself a grim smile. "Of course. I forgot." He exhaled heavily. "Take care of him, Alfred. I'll be there soon. Be sure to watch the fever. Don't let it get above one-oh-four. If that happens-"

"I know, sir. I will not." Alfred assured him. "Godspeed, Master Bruce."

Bruce closed the communicator and quickly started getting his things together to leave Metropolis. He was relieved at his choice to travel to the city in the Batjet instead of using a commercial airline. That would cut an hour off of his return trip.


	3. Heat Battle

Tim wasn't resting peacefully at all when Alfred returned to his side. He was moaning and struggling to move in his unconscious state. Alfred touched his arm, feeling the heat radiate off of the boy and the slipperiness of sweat on his skin. Alfred checked the computer readout that was on the machine to one side of the bed. It had been hooked up to Robin's arm prior to the Batman's call. It was carefully measuring his blood pressure, heart rate, and temperature, humming dutifully. To his disappointment, Alfred saw that the teen's temperature had risen another degree to 103.3. This meant that the fever was quickly becoming nasty and would be threatening the life of the young hero unless something was done.

Alfred gently, but hastily pulled the blankets off of Tim's body and placed them on the table. Tim seemed to still a bit when the cool reached him. Alfred took the break in his movement as an opportunity to get him out of the rest of his uniform. It would be easier to treat him if the teen was wearing something other than high-density polymerized titanium fabric. Robin's uniform was covered in sweat. Alfred was glad to be getting it off of him. He set it to the side so that the Batman could inspect it upon his return.

While Alfred was redressing the unconscious teen in thin pajama pants, Tim began to shake. At first, the shaking was minimal. But soon it began to seem like the teen was freezing to death. Alfred checked the bedside monitor. His temperature was at 103.9 degrees. It was still rising.

Alfred found a light blanket that he draped over the boy before gathering the supplies he would need to bring down Tim's temperature: clean cloths and alcohol. Uncovering Tim to the waist, Alfred began to dutifully rub him down with the alcohol. Being sure to cover his upper arms, shoulders, and chest generously with the clear liquid. Tim's shaking only became worse, which woke the boy in minutes.

His green eyes opened with exhaustion and he gasped in air shakily. He seemed to be struggling to figure out what was going on around him. Alfred was glad that the youth seemed to realize early that he wasn't in danger of attack. Too exhausted to speak, Tim only feebly tried to lift a hand to halt Alfred's ministrations.

"No, I'm afraid not, Master Tim." Alfred said softly, pausing to pat the teen's hand. "You have a nasty fever and this will help bring it down." Tim shivered and tried to respond, but ended up only giving a small nod.

Alfred continued to bathe the boy's chest for a few more moments-- Tim shivering violently, still conscious-- then took a moment to check his vitals. Everything had gone up except for the temperature. It had dropped to 103.5 degrees. Alfred knew that the tactics were stalling the fever's worst, so he set his determination and continued. This time turning Tim on his side and bathing down his back with the alcohol. The teen shook even more, now his teeth chattering loudly. Alfred whispered, "Forgive me, sir."

Alfred finished a few minutes later and was pleased to see that Robin's fever was at an acceptable 102.2 degrees. Tim had stayed awake for the last part, but then quickly fallen asleep as soon as Alfred had re-covered him to allow a small amount of warmth.

The old butler checked the Batcomputer to see if it had found a match for Robin's illness. It was still running through files attempting to complete its mission. Sighing once, Alfred returned to Tim's side.


	4. Getting Worse

The Batman, suited up and grim-faced, was flying the Batjet home as fast as he could. The airspeed he was pulling was causing the Batjet to make a very high-pitched noise as it sped toward Gotham. If any air-traffic authorities had been able to track him, they would have found that he was moving at excesses of Mach two-point-seven, a highly-unacceptable speed for airspace over the United States. Luckily, the Batjet was loaded with the latest in cloaking technology. The only way he would be spotted was by eyesight. But at the height he was at, the chances were slim. He was at flying at fifty-four-thousand feet. The air was clear and the sun was high in the sky. But the Batman didn't feel it. Even with the heat from the sun blazing into the cockpit (through heavily-tinted plastiglass) and the cockpit temperature reading at seventy-five degrees-- he was cold. Cold with worry.

Over and over again, the Dark Knight went over the information that Alfred had given him about Tim's current condition. He knew that this could all end up to be either rather harmless or practically deadly; rather harmless if Tim had a normal cold or something, and practically deadly if one of Gotham's villains had infected him with some sort of virus. It was the practically deadly part that had him worried.

I shouldn't have left, the Batman thought to himself. Even if the entire thing turned out to be simple, he, as the care-taker of Timothy Drake, felt awful that this was even happening. Then again, his logic argued, if he didn't start trusting Robin with large responsibility at some point, he might be pushed away like Dick was…

The minutes stretched on as the Batjet hummed. The Batman continued to think deep and contradicting thoughts until the on-board computer beeped at him. Looking down, Batman saw that the Batjet was only a hundred miles out from Gotham City. He began his decent and slowed his speed. The last thing he needed was to be breaking buildings' glass with a sonic boom.

Hang in there, Tim. I'm nearly home…

* * *

Alfred hurried around the Batcave, readying things for the Batman's arrival, when a sudden alarm from the computer monitoring Tim's vitals sounded. It wasn't the alarm that indicated heart failure, rather, it was a drone-sounding alarm that signaled something had changed beyond the normal rates that had been in the computers banks for the past hour. Alfred's breath caught and he quickly returned to Tim's side. 

The young hero's eyes were closed, but his face wasn't relaxed. He was breathing hard, sweating profusely, and he was grimacing in his unconscious state. Alfred quickly read the computer's readouts. It indicated an elevated heart rate, blood pressure, and temperature. Alfred stifled a gasp at the temperature. It had risen quickly without his seeing. The old butler touched the boy's forehead to verify the readout. He wasn't a thermometer, but he was certain the 104.2 reading was accurate. The boy was burning up.

Tim moaned underneath Alfred's hand. The elder quickly removed it and decided on a course of action. He wasn't certain why the teen's heartbeat was elevated, but that would have to be addressed after he lowered Tim's temperature.

Alfred began to go through the same process that he had used to lower Tim's temperature before. This time however, the teen became slightly conscious when Alfred began to dab his chest and shoulders with alcohol and slowly brought his hands up to interfere with Alfred's work. The boy groaned at him when Alfred tried to push his left hand down. Alfred murmured comforting things to the young hero as he tried to continue. Tim became more disagreeable in his weakened, feverish state. He started twisting away from the cold alcohol cloth. Alfred spoke lowly to the teen as he tried to get him to settle, "You must be still, young one. I cannot help you unless you do…"

Tim didn't seem to hear Alfred in his heated, sweating world. He continued to shy away from Alfred's ministrations. Alfred was beginning to think the thoughts of old that were reserved for situations like this: _Why are Bruce and the young men who fight crime beside him such bad patients? _

It was at that moment that Alfred noticed something that he hadn't seen before: a few slow tears were trailing down Tim's face. Alfred pulled back the alcohol-drenched rag and watched to see if the young man would calm on his own. He didn't. The teen continued to weakly squirm in the treatment bed. The computer showed an increase in heart activity. Robin's heart was going through the pace a slight workout would produce. Alfred knew that he had to get the teen to calm down and bring down his temperature, fast.

Alfred inhaled and exhaled once, then reached out and grabbed Tim's left wrist to hold it down. Tim let out a strange gasp, one that Alfred didn't understand, and started pulling away. "Master Tim!" Alfred whispered disapprovingly as he struggled with the boy.

"Alfred?"

Alfred slightly jumped and turned to the left and saw that the Batman was coming towards the medical area. The Batman was coming from the direction of the Batjet hanger, taking off his mask as he approached. "Thank goodness you are here, Master Bruce." Alfred said, pulling back from his struggle with the teen.

Bruce Wayne, the Batman, came to stand next to Alfred. "What's the latest?" He asked, while looking over the computer readouts and glancing over Tim, obviously already visually assessing the boy's situation.

"Sir, the temperature has risen, and his heart is racing. I can't get him to hold still to treat him." Alfred said, trying not to huff in frustration. "And, the computer has still not found a match for the blood samples."

The Batman was watching Tim carefully as Alfred finished speaking. Then he reached forward a gloved hand and touched Tim's shoulder, resting his hand there to watch the teen's reaction. Tim, in his fevered state, pulled away from the touch. Bruce removed his hand. "Alfred, he's in extreme pain. Remember that time he had the flu at age 12? Same thing happened. He couldn't stand to be touched." Bruce started to take off his gloves. "Remember? He hurt so bad that he couldn't hold still…"

Alfred nodded. "I see that now, sir." He paused. "What can I do?"

Bruce answered without hesitation, "Get me a fresh pair of clothes. I'll also need ice water. About two pint's worth. And I'll need the backup pack of medications that is in the upstairs refrigerated storage… And probably the special injection kit…"

"Understood, sir." Alfred said, then left to gather the items that were needed.

The Batman took over for Alfred with the alcohol and the bringing down of Tim's temperature. Except, he drenched an entire hand-towel with the clear liquid and laid it on the teen's chest. Tim didn't like it, but before he could get it off of himself, the Batman took both his hands captive, holding them in his, leaving the teen to try to pull weakly away, moaning. "Relax, Tim. You're going to be alright." He said quietly, hoping that his voice would aid in quieting the boy. Tim continued to struggle very weakly against his mentor, not knowing at all what was going on. The Batman accepted this and continued to try to lower the teen's fever. He would drench the towel in alcohol then position it on the teen's chest or back, alternating between the two, making sure to keep it there for a few minutes. When it was on the boy's chest, the Batman would hold his hands still. And when it was on his back, he would hold the boys hands with one, and keep the towel on him with the other. It wasn't long before Tim's temperature was at 102.3 degrees.

Tim had struggled, shivering agonizingly, until the Batman finished, the teen's groans turning into frustrated, pain-filled noises, until the end where he fell silent. Every touch against the teen's skin had obviously produced pain to some extent that kept the teen miserable and writhing. The Batman had determined not to allow the sounds to bother him. The same way he had had to be focused when Tim had had the flu in the past, he had to be focused now. The alternative would be a distracted mind that might lead to lethal results.

Tim now lay, breathing heavily, exhausted and shivering, on his side on the treatment bed. He was covered with a thick, white sheet. For the moment, the teen was barely moving. His eyes, glassy and distant, would close and then open wearily. The Batman didn't wish to disturb his somewhat calm state, but he needed to check the boy's vitals manually.

He gently took the pulse in Tim's wrist, relieved that the teen didn't move any more than a preliminary tug. He was also relieved to find that the boy's pulse had slowed a bit. It was still fast, but, Bruce reasoned, it was probably due to the trauma his body was going through. The Batman moved to listen to his heart with a stethoscope. Tim made a pained noise when the Batman placed the instrument against his back. The fathering part of Bruce Wayne appeared and he made a few shushing noises at the teen which, surprisingly, worked. Tim became silent as the Batman listened to his heart and then to his breathing. He didn't detect anything that would cause him to think that there was any upper-respiratory issues going on in Tim's body. Bruce put the stethoscope on the nearby table and turned to greet Alfred, who had returned with the needed items.

Alfred's arms were full with a hanging change of clothes, an insulated medication bag, a shoulder bag that contained the special injection kit, and a small ice-serving bin that he had filled with ice water. Alfred handed the bin to Bruce who placed it on the table next to the treatment bed. Alfred moved to place the items on the lab table, excepting the clothes. Alfred returned to offer the civilian clothes to the Batman.

Bruce took the offered clothes and then handed Alfred a wash cloth he had dipped into the ice water. "Keep it on his forehead." He said lowly.

Alfred took the cloth. "Excellent, sir." The butler said, moving to Tim's side.

Bruce watched Alfred place the folded cloth on Tim's forehead. Tim barely moved under Alfred's hand. Bruce hoped that the teen was near falling asleep. It was obvious that he needed it. The Batman turned and went to the costume area to change clothes and return the Batsuit to its holder.

* * *

From the Authoress: For those who really keep up with the Batman comics, relax. I really do know the history of the Boy Wonder and, yes, I know that I'm messing with the fabric of the Batniverse. Artistic liberties, right? Review your thoughts out. 


	5. The Questions

Bruce Wayne returned to the Batcave medical area in less than ten minutes. This time wearing jeans and a white t-shirt. He came to stand next to Alfred who continued to keep a cold cloth on Tim's forehead. Bruce glanced at the computer read-out that gave Tim's vital signs. The teens heart rate had gone down to a near-resting state. A good sign that the boy's closed eyes indicated actual sleep. His temperature, however, was being stubborn, now at 102.9 degrees. Bruce knew he needed to figure out what type of virus they were dealing with soon.

Alfred looked at Bruce Wayne. "Sir, I believe that he is asleep for now."

Bruce nodded and said quietly, "He needs it." He met Alfred's gaze with his own, then turned and went to where Alfred had the blood samples working on the lab table. Before he could touch the samples, though, his eyes caught sight of Robin's costume laying on another table. A pang of guilt wrenched through him. Maybe if Tim hadn't been out… Bruce stopped his thoughts before they could go further. It wouldn't help Tim if he was beating himself for being a bad guardian. He needed to find out what had happened and what he could do to help Tim get well.

Focusing again on the blood samples that Alfred had taken, Bruce began to run his own set of tests on the them, hoping against the odds that he wouldn't have to draw more. He worked to separate the parts of blood into readable samples, working with the two vials that Alfred had not yet opened.

At that moment, the Batcomputer beeped, signaling that it had finished its scans and matching efforts. And, it had news. Bruce quickly read over the information on the medical area computer screen. The computer showed that there were trace elements of an unknown substance in the blood- a substance that was confusing the scans. The readings also showed that the levels in Tim's blood held findings that pointed to a grouping of the flu or a mutated cold. Bruce exhaled sharply.

Alfred heard him and looked away from Tim to see Bruce leaning over the computer on the lab table. "Master Bruce?"

Bruce worked for a few seconds to gather his concern over Tim's situation before relaying the initial findings to Alfred. "His blood work has levels that indicate the flu or mutated cold and… it also shows some unknown substance in his body." Bruce straightened and turned to look at Alfred who was staring back at him.

"An unknown substance? Oh my." Alfred said lowly. The butler looked back down to Tim's resting form, huddled under the white sheet and trembling slightly in his rest.

Bruce went over to the table containing the recently-worn Robin costume. He pulled a palm pilot sized Batscanner out of a nearby drawer and began to trace it over the inside of the cape. The yellow side of the cape produced nothing out of the ordinary. Bruce then scanned the black side of Tim's cape. This time, something on the cape was found. The Batscanner beeped quietly and respectfully, as if it knew it needed to be quiet for the sleeping teen. Bruce read the Batscanner's findings on the screen to his right. He read it a second time, this time pulling up all of the chemical knowledge that he had in his head. Then he read it again. Each time he read, though, he was stunned. The Batcomputer was telling him that it had found a nasty cross of nervous system chemicals, snake venom, and plant toxins. The concentration was faint, not nearly enough to kill a person, but certainly enough to be noticeable. Where did this come from? Bruce's thoughts became worried once again. This really was his fault. Robin had obviously run into something or someone while crime fighting that had caused him to become exposed to the mixture. Worse yet, it was mingled with the flu or some type of mutated cold.

Bruce turned to look at Alfred again. "Alfred, where all has Tim been? I need to know everything that he did while I was away."

The sudden urgency in Bruce's voice caused Alfred to grow more concerned. He answered him calmly, though, "I compiled a list for you containing that information in the Batcomputer, Master Bruce. It has some rather detailed information on your ward's activities while you were away."

Bruce was pulling up the file containing the information before Alfred finished. He started reading the file at the point where Alfred noted that dinner on the first night was a complete success because he had baked a supreme pizza for Tim, which the teen had nearly finished off by himself. Scanning quickly, Bruce was caught by surprise by a lot of the information recorded. He commented out loud to Alfred, "You two were extremely busy, weren't you?"

"Indeed, sir." Alfred responded. "Tim was especially focused while you were gone. He hardly left the Batcave during the day; putting together leads for the nighttime work. He was concerned that he wouldn't be able to keep up. He did prove to be successful ultimately."

"But to what extent?" Bruce murmured to himself. He then asked curiously, "Alfred, when did he sleep?"

"I have any sleep that Tim had logged on there, sir."

"What, these two naps? The one for two hours and the one for forty minutes? You've got to be kidding. Tim can't function on that amount of sleep!" Bruce sounded mildly exasperated. He turned to look at the old butler. "Alfred, why didn't you force him get more sleep?"

Alfred stared back calmly. "Sir, I tried everything short of drugging him. He simply would not listen to me. He continually argued that he would sleep after you returned, and that he didn't want to 'drop the ball' whilst you were away."

Bruce narrowed his eyes and looked past Alfred at the unconscious teen. He spoke darkly, "You have my permission to drug him the next time he tries a stunt like that."

Alfred raised an eyebrow and nodded once.

Bruce turned back to the computer and finished reading the file thoroughly. Suddenly he found the piece of information he was looking for. "Poison Ivy."

"Yes sir. She was his three o'clock meeting this morning. I believe at the Gotham Museum." Alfred said, pausing for a moment, then asking, "Do you believe that Poison Ivy had something to do with Master Tim's sickness?"

Bruce Wayne slipped back into his Batman voice while staring at the computer screen. "Undoubtedly."

Before Alfred could ask for an explanation, the computer that monitored Tim's vitals started beeping a major change in the readings. And at the same time, Tim started to move about on the treatment bed and moan softly.

Bruce was at his side in an instant.


	6. A World of Hurt

Tim's world was muggy and slow, frustrating him even before he began to hear the voices in the dark around him. His own thoughts were processing exceedingly slow, if they even finished themselves at all._ What…?_ Something isn't right. Wrong. Something's wrong. His feelings caused him to edge him closer to consciousness.

The dark was extremely uncomfortable. Tim barely noticed all this in his pre-conscious state, but when the squeezing started, he did notice. Something felt as if it had wrapped itself around him. It was squeezing him… He could barely breathe!

Fear and panic sprang up inside of him and urged him toward the consciousness that held annoying voices all around him. Somewhere far off, a beeping noise started. The fear grew, and, with it, adrenaline flowed, strengthening him. _Air! I need air…_

Tim began to struggle against the grip that held his entire body and was cutting off his air supply. _Let me go!_ His lungs were begging for more air. Quickly. Tim struggled more.

Unexpectedly, something touched his face, burning like fire, which jolted him all the way to a deep black, panicked, squeezing consciousness. He heard himself cry out.

"Tim!" A man's voice called to him.

Then the pain hit. In his world, where the air supply was being difficult, suddenly burning and writhing pain made itself known. It radiated throughout his entire being, a pain that was so horrendous and commanding it would not go away. Tim took his precious air and screamed.

"Timothy." The voice this time brought a small moment of calm with it-- it was the voice of the Batman.

Tim forced open his eyes, still struggling against the grip and barely any oxygen. The burning pain throbbed around him as he found himself looking up at Alfred Pennyworth and Bruce Wayne. Alfred looked grim, but Bruce looked focused. Tim panicked again when he realized that there was nothing on him besides a sheet. He wasn't being attacked. Alfred and Bruce weren't even touching him. The realization was awful. _They can't see!_

The teen tried to get through the building fear and panic for air for just one, _just one_, plea to his family. He found the air in what he'd thought were empty lungs. "Can't breathe!" Tim gasped, unable to stop his pained moving, struggling for air.

He saw the understanding come over both Bruce and Alfred. Bruce left the bed area quickly and Alfred reached for something nearby. The next thing Tim realized was that Alfred was putting a oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. It hurt when it was pushed against his skin, but Tim didn't have the air to protest. At first, the mask only brought more panic and fear, Tim knowing that the oxygen mask would not do him any good if the oxygen could not reach his lungs. But then, it brought the burning in his lungs down slightly. Tim felt the fear lessen for a moment, and, in that moment, quit writhing. He focused on breathing, the panic still echoing in his ears.

In the seconds that followed, Tim found that the air was still barely getting to his lungs. He was still suffocating, it was just slower now. The fear returned, and with it, small tears starting trailing down his face. _This is going to kill me… _He began slowly turning back and forth on the bed, the pain from his lungs outplaying the pain that was everywhere else.

Through blurry eyes, Tim saw Bruce return as quickly as he had left. Bruce grabbed his left arm, sending pain shocking through him, and pushed it down onto the bed. Then Bruce brought his other hand up and pushed it against his lower arm, causing a sharp pain to rip through Tim's arm, upper chest, shoulder, and head. The teen felt himself pull away from the pain. Bruce murmured, "Tim, be still." The pain that his mentor was afflicting didn't subside, but heightened. Then Tim comprehended that he was being given an injection.

He panicked again, more adrenaline coursing through him, his deep-seeded fear of needles surfacing and mixing with the fear of not having air. In his Aichmophobia reflex, Tim pulled away harder and brought his opposite hand up to push away from Bruce. Bruce held his arm still, continuing, and Alfred caught his wrist and held tight, adding to the pain the teen was enduring. Tim heard himself gasping in air, felt himself crying from fear and pain, and wanted it all to stop. He thrashed harder, pulling away and adding movement to his efforts.

Bruce responded by holding his lower arm even tighter, his iron grip cutting into Tim's body like a knife. Tim wanted to cry out in pain, but the air supply was so limited he found himself holding his breath instead. _Stop! Please…_ The tears flowed faster. He felt his struggling become weaker. Things began to go in slow motion around him. His struggling did no good. And now, though his thinking was consumed with pain and fear, he felt unconsciousness calling for him. _No… not now! Please!_

"Tim, calm down." Bruce's voice said gently into his fading world.

Tim didn't feel much more. He passed out, completely overwhelmed by the pain.


	7. Damage Management

Bruce, heart beating quickly, watched as Tim lost consciousness. The adopted father stifled the slight panic and overwhelming anger he was feeling at himself for not noticing Tim's breathing difficulties sooner. He hated that the symptoms had been slowly suffocating his ward and he had not realized it until it was at a traumatic point for the teen. He was also angry that he'd had to give the panicked teen the antitoxin so violently. Bruce looked down to where he had quickly found the boy's lower arm Interosseous vein, and slowly finished giving the teen the hastily-made injection. Drawing the needle out, he realized that, luckily, he had held tight enough to Tim's arm to keep him from doing serious damage to himself. There was definitely going to be a bruise, though, both from the injection and from Bruce's grip.

Bruce gave the empty syringe to the old butler next to him who released Tim's right wrist, gently laying the teen's hand on his stomach. Alfred moved to go place the injection on the lab table behind them, while Bruce picked up the stethoscope and put the earpieces on.

Placing the head of the stethoscope gently on the teen's chest, Bruce listened to Tim's breathing for long minutes, finding a small amount of relief in the fact that the boy's breathing had become lighter and less strained. The bronchioles had relaxed, leaving only moderate hints that the Boy Wonder had just been struggling for oxygen. The antitoxin had done it's job, counteracting the effects of the 'unknown substance.' The question now lay with the dosage size. He had given his ward a safe dose, unsure if the antitoxin would work well enough to subdue any allergic reaction to the poisons. He would have to watch Tim for signs that he would have to administer more of the antidote.

Slowly taking off the stethoscope, Bruce looked at the computer monitor that was overseeing Tim's vitals. The readings showed that Tim's pulse was slowing down, but not too quickly. His temperature had dropped a bit, but again, not by much. Bruce then watched Tim's face for a long moment and realized that the teen was grimacing in his unconscious state behind the oxygen mask. No doubt he was still in pain, knowing it or not. Bruce took an educated guess that the extreme pain was a by-product of the flu or mutated cold rather than the venom gift from Poison Ivy. If only he knew what exactly the nervous system agents that were in Ivy's gift were meant for… Bruce exhaled, perturbed. That lady was going to pay.

"Alfred?" Bruce said, turning slightly.

"Sir?" Alfred said, waiting.

"I need to take more blood."

Alfred nodded, moving to retrieve the items that he would need.

While Bruce waited, he picked up and ran the damp, cold cloth over Tim's forehead. The teen shivered, moaning once. Heart breaking under his calm exterior and decided focus, Bruce stopped and put down the cloth. He pulled the thick white sheet up to Tim's shoulders. Hesitating only for a moment, Bruce then smoothed Tim's bangs back from his forehead and slowly stroked his jet black hair, trying to be comforting and not add to the pain the boy was enduring. Tim did seem to be comforted by the touches, his face relaxing some. Letting out an small, amused, breath of air, Bruce realized that this situation, like that of Tim's flu at age 12, was going to require some of his more dedicated fatherly acts. Being soothing and encouraging healing was something the monks of Mongolia had taught a younger Bruce Wayne as they cared for the poor and the sick in surrounding villages. He wished he had known then that the lessons were going to be applicable to those closest to him. He would have paid closer attention…

Bruce continued slowly stroking Tim's hair until Alfred was at his side with the items he had requested.

Alfred handed the alcohol swab and rubber tie to Bruce, who began to ready Tim's left arm for the blood-drawing process. He and Alfred shared a brief look that communicated their hope that Tim would stay oblivious to what they were preparing to do, but that they were ready if he did not. Focusing on Tim's arm, Bruce deftly slid the needle into the Interosseous vein that ran inside the youth's arm, being sure to miss the area he had injected earlier. The teen moved around a small bit in his unconsciousness, seeming to be in pain while a patient Bruce slowly drew three vials of blood.

"My…" Alfred said, lowly, placing a comforting hand on Tim's left hand and wrist. "He does seem to have a low pain tolerance currently."

Bruce nodded once, then murmured, "I intend to be addressing that in a minute or two." Bruce finished drawing the blood and quickly removed the needle, using a cotton ball and a stretch-bandage to bandage the site.

While he worked, Tim let out a weak 'mmph' sound, still unconscious, and moved his shoulders seemingly irritated, causing Bruce to pause, allowing Tim time to settle down, and then finishing the bandage job. Bruce motioned for Alfred to stay beside the sleeping teen and then quietly collected the vials of warm blood and headed to the lab table.

Bruce worked at a skillfully quick pace to get the blood working in the computer to find the latest information on Tim's status. It would take the computer a mere few minutes to compare the newest readouts with that of the blood taken earlier. The readouts would give Bruce a good idea of the amount of antitoxin the 'unknown substance' would require to safely exit the teenager's system. Better yet, he would have a good idea of what type of pain killer he could give Tim and how soon he could give it to him.

While the Batcomputer hummed dutifully as it started working, Bruce moved to the replicating station that was at a far corner of the lab. Lucius Fox had created the station for him years ago and, once again, it was going to prove its worth. Bruce used the last bit of the antitoxin that he had mixed for Tim to make a new batch and set the computer to replicating a few more doses. He knew that if Robin had been exposed to Poison Ivy's toxic gift, there was a good chance that there were some police officers that were going to need the antitoxin soon, if not already.

Just then, the Batcomputer beeped, asking for attention. Bruce walked to the closest read-out screen. The Batcomputer was showing the results of Tim's blood comparison. As he had hoped, it showed that the poisons in Tim's body were lessening, and that the antitoxin had been enough to overturn the effects of the teen's reactions to the toxins. Based on the effect of the antitoxin on Tim's blood and given the rate of the poisons leaving Tim's body (which wasn't fast enough for Bruce's taste), the Batcomputer listed several medications that the teen needed to avoid until his blood levels were back to normal. Bruce scanned the list twice looking carefully for two painkillers that he had had in mind for combating the teen's achiness. He found neither one. Allowing himself a small satisfied smile, Bruce moved to immediately create an injection of the two painkillers together.

Alfred, not missing the movement, asked from beside the unconscious teen, "Find something, sir?"

Putting the finishing touches on the mixed painkiller injection, Bruce murmured, "Yes, finally." He crossed over to Alfred and the tall treatment bed that held Tim. "This should be enough to take the edge off of whatever he's feeling." Bruce used an alcohol swab on the back of Tim's right hand, readying it. "Hopefully, this will keep him calm and resting until the toxins are out of his system. And then we can focus on treating his virus."

"Very good, sir." Alfred said, standing ready in case the teen decided to wake up and be difficult.

Bruce rubbed his thumb hard above the teen's wrist multiple times, getting the teen used to a pressured feeling on his forearm. Tim didn't wake, but he did frown harder for a few moments. Bruce then paused to slide the needle into a large vein on the back of the teens hand, and then slowly started injecting. Again, Tim didn't wake, but did appear to feel the pain. Bruce took care not to speed through the injection, allowing the burning associated with painkiller injections to ease itself into Tim's body. Near the end the teen moved a little, causing Bruce to quickly take hold of his wrist and hold down until he could safely remove the needle. Underneath the oxygen mask, Tim let out a small, unconscious, pained noise. Putting the empty syringe on the table next to the treatment bed, Bruce rubbed the teen's arm, this time gently. As he rubbed, the pained look on the boy's face faded slowly and Tim began to look as if he was able to rest.

Bruce looked at Alfred who met his gaze. "Now, we wait."

Alfred thought for a few moments, then asked, "How long do you think it will take for Tim's body to remove the toxins?"

"Six more hours. Maybe seven."

Alfred nodded. "When do you want him moved upstairs, Master Bruce?"

Before Bruce could answer, the Batcomputer went off in the main area, letting out a moderately loud siren noise.

"Stay with Tim." Bruce said, leaving them quickly to get to the main computer.

The Batcomputer showed that Batman was being summoned, on each of the four main police channels. The dispatchers were asking for Batman to contact Commissioner Gordon. The Batwave was programmed to search for keywords and keep a running tally of them during the daytime hours so that he could address them in the evening. But this time, with as many times as the dispatchers were saying "Batman" and "meet" and "Commissioner," the Batwave would have called him on his private cell phone and given him the information. The Batcomputer had sensed him in the cave, though, and had set off a louder alarm than normal. Bruce pushed the button to silence the alarms and checked the readouts to see if Gordon had given a location to meet him at. Meetings during the day were always more tricky than at night. Gordon knew this. More than likely this involved Poison Ivy's gift and Gordon needing an antitoxin. And no meeting place was given. That meant that Commissioner Gordon was waiting for the Batman on the police headquarters roof.

Bruce Wayne placed the Batcomputer on 'scan' mode and then walked to the costume area where he suited up as the Batman.

Alfred greeted him in the medical area with the three vials of the antitoxin, hot off of the replicating station. The caped and masked Batman took the vials, put them in his Batbelt, and nodded toward his unconscious sidekick. "Watch his fever. I'll be back soon."

"Very good, sir." Alfred said.

The Batman turned and headed for the Batmobile. He wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Tim needed him now and the duties of the Batman were getting in the way.

* * *

From the Authoress: Welcome to the longest chapter. I didn't edit this chapter as perfectly as I usually do, so if you see any mistakes, please mention them in your review. Also, many thanks to Wandering Raccoon, who goaded me into action with such nice reviews. There's nothing that makes me write faster than expectant reader reviews. Be a good reader. Please review and enjoy! 


	8. Strange Visions

The Batman made sure to approach the police headquarters' roof as stealthily as possible, swinging toward the eight-story building from the side that was shaded. He released his Batgun and landed silently on the roof. So silently, in fact, that Commissioner Gordon and the two officers that waited with him continued to stare out to the east-- the direction that The Batman usually came in from when it was nighttime. The Batman walked up behind them and waited for a few seconds to be noticed. When he wasn't, he spoke lowly, causing all three men before him to jump and whirl around. "Commissioner."

Commissioner James Gordon, or Jim, as he was called by peers, stepped toward him, saying, "Once, just once, I wish you'd let me see you coming." His voice was exasperated, but his face betrayed the usual relief he felt at seeing The Batman.

The Batman took it as a compliment and decided not to waste time. He held out a gloved hand toward Gordon, in which he held the three vials. "Give your officers forty-five cc's and monitor their breathing. They should be fine after that."

Gordon's look of surprise only lasted until he had taken the three vials from the Batman and handed them to the officer behind him. He asked, "How did you know?" Then he waved his two officers to leave. "Get those to the hospital, STAT." After they left, he turned back to the Batman.

The Batman stared at him, knowing that the correct answer would find Gordon's head as it always did. He was the Batman, after all.

The Commissioner nodded once, answering his own question, muttering, "Of course." Gordon shook his head.

The Batman turned to leave.

Gordon then said, "You know, you really did train that boy good. I mean… real good."

The Batman turned to look back. His silence asked for Gordon to continue.

The older gentleman gave a small smile. "I don't know if he told you, but over the last few nights he put himself on the line for several of my officers… Some of them were brand new to the force. Didn't know whether to run or shoot. This morning, with Poison Ivy, things got ugly fast… Fools would've died if Robin hadn't jumped in front of them." Gordon paused, then said, "I know you've been training him to be more independent, and, well… I think you're doing a good job. Thanks."

The Batman stood, pondering what Gordon said for a moment. In his heart, he was proud that Robin had held his own in the Batman's absence, but in his mind, he was upset that things had ended for his sidekick the way they had. 'More independent' wasn't exactly what he had been aiming for by leaving Robin for a few days. In fact, he had only been concerned about the business with the underground in Metropolis. Maybe that was where he went wrong… He finally gave Gordon a nod, and said darkly, "Keep Ivy out of the sun for awhile."

"You can count on it." Gordon replied.

With that, the Batman walked to the edge of the roof, spread his cape and jumped off.

* * *

The darkness was warm and softly moving, spreading itself around with grace and depth. Tim flowed with it, unaware that he wasn't a part of it. He was unaware of anything. All that existed was black darkness.

But then, there was an annoying cold that tried to lift the warm darkness. It was a tiny annoyance at first, but then it grew. Cold. The feeling demanded attention. No, it wasn't cold, it was _freezing._

The dark fell away beneath him as he pushed upwards through his unconsciousness and into awareness.

Tim's feelings of annoyance spiked to anger as he came to, gasping a breath of air and opening his eyes. He was instantly aware of more than he wanted to be. Dark, barely lit colors whirled in front of his eyes, as if reality itself had been broken into dizzying pieces. There was a muted pain that was clutching his muscles. His head lowly and slowly throbbed. His arms and legs and back felt as if they had run out of descriptive pain signals to send his brain, so they were only sending one numbing message: Ow, it hurts…

Tim tried to figure out what was going on around him, but the whirly dark wouldn't come into focus for his eyes. He could hear himself breathing hard, but he couldn't seem to discern more than that and the throbbing in his head. Was he captured and drugged? He couldn't quite remember… Where was he?… What on earth was going on?!

The annoying freezing cold came back, touching his face, taking his breath away and causing him to try to fight back to make it stop. Even more annoying than the cold was the realization that he was unable to move but in small amounts. He could not bring his hands up to his face! He couldn't help the slip of a frustrated noise that left him.

A comforting voice came from right above him, "There, there, Master Tim. It's just water. Stay calm."

It took a few moments, but Tim finally discerned that the voice belonged to Alfred Pennyworth. His friend. What was Alfred doing to him? It was annoying! Tim tried hard to turn his head away from Alfred's freezing motions. He managed to turn a bit, but found the room dancing in circles around him that continuously reset themselves. He shut his eyes irritatedly, feeling sorely lightheaded. He let out another sound, this time sounding far away and pitiful.

The cold ceased for a few moments, allowing him to breathe and be still. Why did he feel so strange? Was Alfred doing something to him to make him feel sick? A stark moment of delirium washed over him along with the awful thought: perhaps this was a bad guy who was dressed up as Alfred, and maybe he was trying to keep him from fighting back… They were poisoning him. That's why he couldn't move! It was probably a trap for Batman! And Batman would be coming soon. He was never far away from Tim. He had to snap out of it! Batman would need his alert to the trap! Even if everything hurt and even if he was dizzy and sluggish, he was a well-trained sidekick. He could get out of this. His skills were only matched by Nightwing, and awesomely enough, Nightwing wasn't here. He could do this. He could do this! It was just a matter of getting his sluggish limbs to cooperate…

Robin built himself up in his mind for long minutes, hoping that he would have the necessary strength to overpower whatever guards were waiting for him. He _could_ do this. He counted down in his mind, and at one, he summoned all of his strength and launched himself at the baddie.

* * *

Alfred couldn't have prepared himself for the teen that he had been nursing to jump off of the bed at him.

"Master Tim!" He gasped.

His first thought was that Tim was falling off of the waist-high medical bed, so his reflexes were to try to catch him. However, upon landing on his back with the teen on top of him--youthful arm resting just so on his neck as if to cut off his air-- Alfred realized that Tim was delirious. Luckily, the youth was also weak. His pressure on Alfred's neck lasted a mere few seconds. The lines that connected Tim to the Batcomputer pulled on him hard enough to get him to loose his balance to one side of Alfred, alarms going off as the teen was disconnected from the computer's scans. Alfred breathed in, not making any sudden movements.

Tim seemed to work hard regaining his balance, looking ready to pass out from the sudden activity. Alfred was certain that he was moving with every ounce of energy he had to get away, which wasn't nearly enough. Alfred chided him from the ground, "Sir, you shouldn't be up."

Tim hurriedly tried to stand and get away from Alfred. Alfred pushed himself up off of the ground just in time to see Tim crash to the ground only twenty feet from the medical bed. Alfred quickly got up and rushed to Tim's crumpled form on the ground. Tim had landed hard on his side, and had been forced to curl up due to the pain the fall had brought. Alfred knelt next to him, and softly said his name. "Tim?"

Tim stayed curled up on the Batcave floor, breathing hard, eyes closed. Alfred saw the tears trailing down his face and hoped that the teen's feverish stunt hadn't just made things worse for his body that was trying to heal.

"Master Tim?" Alfred asked quietly, placing a hand ever so lightly on the teen's head. "Are you alright?"

Tim managed to open his pain-filled eyes and stare at the old butler. Alfred gave him a reassuring smile. "It's alright, young man. It will be alright."

At that, the teen's eyes unfocused and closed as he fell unconscious, leaving Alfred to catch his breath and resist cursing the annoying stubbornness of heroes.

* * *

From the Authoress: Wow. The reviews. Props to JaxWin, go-stevie-go, Krayler Pipher, Emmetluver, BlueEyedAlchemist, and (my naming buddy) boba 411. Ya'll just won't leave me alone. WELL! FINE THEN! I guess I can't abandon Tim after all… More to come. Keep being good readers: Review.


	9. Finding Rest

The Batman raced his sleek and highly technologically advanced vehicle into the Batcave. His speed was above the normal motions he put the Batmobile through, entering the cave at excesses of seventy miles-per-hour. An extremely unsafe speed.

As he pulled the vehicle to a screeching halt on the lower area of the Batcave, he was already opening his car's sliding roof. He jumped out of the vehicle before it could fully power down.

The Batman moved quickly to the upper level of the Batcave, needing to check on his ward before another second went by.

He was soon aware of the fact that there were small alarms going off in the medical area. Annoying tones indicated that things were wrong. Upon seeing the empty medical bed, which was surrounded by a mess, the Batman hurried closer.

"Alfred?"

The Batman's short call was answered by a voice from the floor on the far side of the medical area. "Master Bruce? Thank goodness, you've returned!"

The Batman, removing his cowl, followed Alfred's voice and found him leaning over a curled up Timothy Drake lying on the floor, who was clearly unconscious. Bruce knelt beside them in heavy concern. "What happened, Alfred?"

"He jumped me." Alfred said plainly.

Bruce looked from Tim to Alfred, and then back to Tim, and then back to Alfred. He didn't detect any hint of a joke in Alfred's voice, so he took the statement as truth. "Are you hurt?"

Alfred shook his head once. "Startled, perhaps. But not injured." Alfred moved his hand to lightly touch Tim's arm. "This one, however, took a nasty spill."

Bruce trained his attention on the young man. The grimace that had been there earlier continued to be on the Tim's face, and a few trails of tears were still visible. The Batman pulled his gloves off so he could touch Tim's face with the back of his fingers. "It was delirium, wasn't it?"

"Hallucinating, would be my guess, sir." Alfred answered. "He seemed to be trying to escape me."

The heat on Tim's face was not hot enough to be deadly, but it was enough to make Bruce want to treat it again. First things first, though, he told himself. "How did he land?"

Alfred said, "On his right side… Heavily, I might add."

"Hn." Bruce carefully checked the young sidekick's left side first, finding no broken ribs or spots that seemed bruised (besides the spots that Bruce had already seen due to the hero work of the last three days.) Slowly, he gently pushed Tim onto his back. He didn't wake. Carefully looking over the boy's skin, Bruce found a solid spot that was a hardy pink-- a sign of early bruising-- over his mid-rib-cage, most likely from the landing Tim had taken. He gently touched the area, causing Tim to jump, gasp, and return to consciousness, opening his eyes, wide and fearful. At the fright and panic in Tim's glassy eyes, Bruce immediately starting trying to calm him. "Shh, shh! It's okay, Tim! Shh, calm down. You're safe…"

Tim's eyes worked hard to focus on Bruce, the fear in them touching the fathering side in the adoptive dad yet again. Tim immediately seemed confused and distraught. He didn't register who he was looking at.

The Batman braced himself for the possibility of the teen becoming violent to 'get away' if the hallucination had not ended. He tried to speak some sense into Tim's messed up world. "Tim… You're okay. You fell after you got out of bed… I need to check and make sure you aren't hurt. Do you understand? Just relax... Be still."

The young man's breathing was heavy and his ill eyes clearly showed that he didn't recognize Bruce or trust him. Bruce guessed that the delirium was still present. The look on Tim's face was close to that of a sickly, trapped animal that wanted desperately to be invisible. Bruce continued to say the same thing again and again, adding his name and Alfred's name, hoping that the information would at least distract the boy, if not also trigger his memories through the fever's hold. While speaking to Tim, Bruce gently finished checking the teen's torso for injuries from the fall.

When Bruce finished, he returned his hand to the bruised spot on Tim's ribs, and with one steady, not-so-gentle rub, determined that the ribs were not broken or fractured. Tim winced and pulled hard away from him, letting out a small cry.

Bruce tried to calm him verbally, but now Tim was looking for an escape again. The boy was working to get to his feet to get away, throwing a weak and off-balance back kick at Bruce at the same time. The unmasked Batman saw what was going on and quickly was out of the way. Well, at least Tim's sidekick instincts are still intact and functional, The Batman thought ruefully while standing up behind the teen.

Before Tim had staggered six steps away, the delirious sidekick began to fall. The Batman came forward and scooped the teen up into his arms silently. Tim was panicked and was pushing away, but Bruce didn't loosen his grip. There would be no more falling, The Batman thought to himself, slightly annoyed that this had even happened in the first place. He should have realized that something like this would happen… and he should've warned Alfred.

Alfred, seeing that the squirming and out-of-it teen was in The Batman's arms, returned to the waist-high medical bed and readied it for the teen, clearing it and replacing computer cords to the nearby table. Bruce followed behind him and put the teen into the bed, but not hesitating to fasten the waist restraint on Tim, securely keeping him down. The teen was not impressed in his delirious state. He fought against it for a few long moments at high irritation levels with pitiful struggling sounds before tiring himself out and sinking into the bed frustrated and utterly exhausted.

The Batman watched the teen for a moment and then removed his gloves and cape. Setting them aside, he took the new cold rag that Alfred had placed into the basin of water, and approached Tim with it. It was an easy matter to capture the boy's hands with one hand and bathe his face with the other. Tim struggled, turning his head back and forth, trying hard to thwart the face bath. Bruce finally out-maneuvered the teen by placing the cloth directly on the boy's upper chest. The cold seemed to pause the teen, sending a bit of reality into his hallucinating world.

Bruce tried a new attempt to get through to his ward. "Timothy…" He said gently, "I'm here… I'm sorry I left you to battle alone. I didn't mean for you to get hurt…" Bruce paused his soft words to gauge the boy's response. Tim actually looked up at him. The boy looked exhausted, still grimacing in pain, but he was listening. Bruce continued slowly. "It really is me… I know you want proof, so here it is: I am Bruce Wayne. I am also Batman… The entrance code to the Batcave is changed every twelve days. The Batmobile's registry and codes are updated every four… Your bedroom in the mansion is wherever you want it to be. You change rooms frequently. Currently, you are staying in the fourth bedroom on the third floor… the brown and navy room… You used to hate dogs. I used to hate Bats… I trained you for months before I would let you be Robin… You once saved my life dressed as a ninja, so in case you failed, the public wouldn't think less of Robin… Do you remember?"

The information was obviously not lost on the injured Robin. His blood-shot eyes suddenly showed understanding. He parted his lips to answer, then paused, then weakly and scratchily said quietly, "…I remember…"

Bruce smiled. He continued speaking slowly to Tim while moving the cloth stealthily to Tim's forehead and dabbing it. "I know you are tired… Alfred has been telling me about all of the work that you did while I was away… You brought so many criminals to justice… Impressive, really… But the facts are this, Tim, you are ill… You are needing rest so badly that I'm concerned… I think the best thing for you to do is sleep for awhile… You know, rest… Allow yourself a chance to be still… Now that I am here, I can keep watch for you."

To Bruce's relief, Tim responded excellently to his words. Already his ward was becoming more relaxed--eyes blinking slowly, his breathing slowing, and the pained expression fading. Bruce loosened his grip on Tim's hands, allowing them to sink down to his chest with his hand still on top of them. "So… you need to relax and sleep now, okay?" Bruce continued to murmur relaxing phrases to the teen. He put aside the wet cloth, also, and began to patiently stroke Tim's sweaty hair. "Rest now… I'll be here… Sleep. That's it… Rest…"

Tim's eyes closed. His breathing became steady and deep-- such an improvement to before-- and all of his muscles completely relaxed. Bruce became silent, but continued to stroke the teen's jet black hair and keep his hand placed on Tim's hands.

The minutes stretched on, but The Batman felt no hurry to leave. He watched Tim sleep. He counted the seconds between his breaths. He felt the rise and fall of Tim's chest underneath his hand. He let time wear on. Nothing would move him from this place right now…

Tim rested well under his watch. In the past, he would've left the other two Robins to rest and heal on their own. What had happened that kept him glued to where he stood? What had changed that caused him to cherish the moments of fatherhood now? It didn't matter anymore. All that mattered was this; that, even in the bad times, he could find the moments of beauty and peace… And right here it was: watching Timothy Drake sleep. His Timothy Drake. His ward. His friend. His… youngest.

* * *

Alfred watched Bruce stand protectively beside the sleeping teen who laid peacefully on the waist high medical treatment bed. It had been a wonder watching Bruce put the boy to sleep. Alfred had seen the same thing only twice. Once with a tantrum-throwing 13-year-old Dick Grayson, and then once with a young Timothy Drake who was sick with the flu. It didn't happen often. So, at this sight, Alfred had stayed back and just watched in approval. Bruce had always needed the boys as much as the orphan boys had needed him. Alfred understood to some degree. Raising and caring for a once-timid Bruce Wayne had brought a sense of purpose that superseded any that had come before for the old butler. Alfred allowed himself a small smile at the memories.

Now that Bruce was motionless, besides the stroking of the sleeping teen's hair, it was obvious to Alfred that the man would not be moving for awhile. He would be standing beside the boy for a long time. Alfred took this moment as a good one to slip away and make them both an extremely late lunch.

The Batman didn't even look up at his retreating footsteps.

* * *

From the Authoress: Love it or hate it? I know I have crossed out of the realm of the cartoons and comics. I'd like to think that I am still using the same Batman and Alfred from "Batman Begins"… anyway. If you hate it, tell me why. If you love it, please gush. For my best reviewers: Kudos to JaxWin, jcyz, BlueEyedAlchemist, go-stevie-go, AmericanGypsy, and Emmetluver. You guys rock my writing world!


	10. The Soothing Ties

"Master Bruce?"

Bruce returned to himself at the sound of Alfred's voice. He looked over to where the butler stood. Alfred was holding a tray with a few sandwiches, sides, milk, and water, obviously meant for him. Alfred placed the tray of food on the table behind him.

"You should eat, Master Bruce." He said.

Bruce looked back down at the young man that was sleeping peacefully before him. Bruce realized that he had been lost in his thoughts. How long had it been? The Batman was surprised to see that his left hand was still resting on top of Tim's hands, and that his right hand was placed gently on Tim's arm. He was also surprised to find that he had been so lost in his thoughts that he had not taken the still moments to reconnect Tim to the Batcave's medical computer.

Alfred, seeming to read his private thoughts, came to his side calmly and started finding the leads and sensors to put on the sleeping teen.

Bruce stepped back and watched him work, relieved that the teen didn't stir at all. Perhaps Tim would sleep deeply as his body had been needing. Finally, he thought to himself.

"Sir, your nourishment." Alfred said lowly, in a reminding tone.

Bruce sighed lightly and tore his eyes away from the sleeping Tim to go eat. Behind him, Alfred allowed himself a small, hidden smile. The Batman didn't notice as he sat and began to eat his meal. It was nearly 2:30 in the afternoon and he was in need of sustenance.

While Bruce ate, Alfred finished reconnecting the resting boy to the computer. The computer beeped loudly once, as if to show displeasure at being disconnected so suddenly earlier, and then settled into a soft beeping that followed the teen's heartbeat. Alfred was comforted to find that Tim's heartbeat was such a slow rate. Tim's youthful body was actually resting.

The computer showed that his temperature was not as well off. Alfred looked back at Bruce when the display showed its findings: 103.1. Bruce Wayne met his eyes, chewing his sandwich, seeing the same information and not approving of it. Alfred knew that Bruce was pondering the same thing he was: How would they fight Tim's fever while he was asleep? Any attempt to bring the temperature down would wake him…

Bruce swallowed his bite of sandwich and said quietly. "We will leave it alone for now and just monitor it." At Alfred's raised eyebrow, he added, "We will lower it if it gets to 103.9."

Alfred nodded once. He then found a light sheet and proceeded to cover the teen. Tim remained motionless aside from deep breathing.

Bruce had soon eaten enough of his lunch. Not much of his lunch, but enough. He visited the small, black supplies cabinet and retrieved a few items.

Bruce came up beside Alfred holding two vials and a syringe kit.

Alfred said nonchalantly, "Ah. That time already."

Bruce nodded. "I just need a few vials, then you can get some rest and so can I."

"Understood, sir."

Alfred and Bruce worked together, slowly, as not to wake the teen, to prep and then draw the blood that Bruce needed for tests. Tim didn't stir at all; his breathing not even quickening.

As Alfred bandaged the draw site, Bruce took the vials of warm blood to the computer's testing station.

A few minutes later, the computer screen at the testing station filled with the information that The Batman had asked it for. Bruce scanned the information twice and then a third time, calculating in his head to be sure. He then turned to Alfred and relayed what he had found.

"We've got about six more hours before his blood is clear of the toxins."

Alfred glanced at the sleeping sidekick before asking Bruce slowly, "Will he be requiring more painkillers before then?"

"Yes." Bruce looked down at the floor for a moment, then raised his eyes to meet Alfred's. "He should sleep solidly until then, however. I think you should get some rest now, old friend."

Alfred thought about the offer, then asked directly, "What time are the painkillers due?"

"5:30."

Alfred turned and started upstairs, throwing over his shoulder. "Be back then."

The Batman smiled, mildly amused, after him. Alfred's directness was a Godsend in many situations.

* * *

Bruce, now changed into jeans and a white t-shirt, found himself standing next to Tim's waist-high medical bed again, watching him sleep.

The teen was still resting deeply, unmoving besides his breathing, and silent besides his inhales and exhales.

Bruce had tried to eat more of his lunch, but his appetite was shot. Gone. All thanks to the teen who was sleeping before him. He would try to eat again later, but he didn't expect for things to be any better. He would just have to accept it.

The young man shifted slightly, bringing the Batman to high alert. The young man settled as quickly as his slight movement had come, his position on the medical bed not changing. Bruce watched him intensely until he was certain that Tim was fine.

The Batcave computer still showed a 103.1 temperature radiating off of the boy. Batman, not one to trust computers 100 percent of the time, slowly touched the back of his hand to Tim's forehead. He was fairly certain that the computer wasn't lying. There was no sweat on Tim's head, but it was definitely heated. Again Bruce asked himself if he wanted to try to lower the teen's fever and chance waking him up.

The answer was still no.

Bruce straightened the sheets on Tim instead. After which Bruce found himself staring at Tim again. Again time was passing him by quickly.

Bruce exhaled in amusement. "Look what you've done to me, Tim." He said softly to the sleeping figure. "You, of all people should know to leave me alone."

Tim's resting face stayed lax, the words falling upon him like oxygen particles, the voice of his mentor not penetrating his unconsciousness.

"Why you do this to me…" Bruce let his voice rest for a few minutes. During which, he realized what he was aching to say to the teen. What he was longing to say, but, strangely, was kept from it. Walls that had been built in the past years had made this subject unapproachable. The hurt from Dick Grayson and Jason Todd had made it impossible. When was he ever going to say it? When? When it was too late? Never? The time was never going to be perfect. Never. But now… now was a good time, because he truly felt it. Shouldn't he say it? The Batman overcame his stony boundaries in a slow, deep breath and whispered, "I'm proud of you, Robin."

His admission lifted his heart, somehow. Somehow, he knew that he'd said what was required and warranted by the situation. Now, if Tim had only been conscious to hear it…

"Remind me to tell you that later." Bruce whispered to Tim's still figure.

The silence answered him.

* * *

A blurred stinging woke Tim, bringing him to an extremely uncomfortable consciousness.

"Tim, be still." The Batman's voice said softly beside him.

Tim opened his watery eyes noticing a whole lot of things all at once. For one, he couldn't breath through his nose and his throat was scratchy. Then he was hot. The type of heat that burns to the point of sweatiness. And then, he found he was also in a strange state of pain. His limbs and back and head and throat hurt as if they were sensitive to all movement. Maybe if he stayed still? But the heat… Ugh.

The teen tried to say, 'easier said than done,' but all that came out was a couple of small coughs.

The two tiny coughs made everything twice as bad and caused Tim to realize that the irritating stinging was coming from his lower arm. Tim grimaced hard and tried to look through blurry eyes to see what was going on. Was the Batman holding his arm down?

"Tim," The Batman's voice warned softly, again, "Be still."

A ton of bricks crashing onto Tim's head would've been gentler than the horrendous realization of what was happening. An injection. The adrenaline had rushed through his body from his head to his toes and then back again before Tim could get a handle on it. Though the calm side of his brain ordered him not to panic, he did anyway. Like always. Tim gasped and struggled to sit up. The pain in his lower arm doubled as the Batman worked, and that mixed with the strange pain coursing through his body and current state of fear. He retreated back into the bed with a pained cry.

"Tim, think about something else now please." The Batman said. "Like a new puppy. Golden Retriever. Fuzzy. Big eyes. A female. Big paws. Whines all the time." The Batman's words came out in a commanding tone, but they were much kinder in Tim's mind than they sounded.

The phobia was momentarily frozen as a pained and panicked Tim actually thought about what he was being asked to think about. Before the phobia could resume its terror, the Batman continued.

"Likes fetch. Won't quit. Named Kitan. Purple collar. Fast. Very fluffy. Sheds. Needs to be brushed constantly. Eats a lot. Likes squeaky toys. Likes to ride in the Batmobile."

The last one successfully crossed Tim's ill and panicked wires with his humor wires, and the result was a pause to decide to laugh or ignore. The hard factor to get over was the fact that this was the Batman talking about a fluffy Golden Retriever who liked to ride in the Batmobile. Tim's watery eyes blinked his confusion, and the teen thought one last time through his panic about the word 'fluffy,' and then his current state of reality no longer made sense.

In that amount of time, the Batman had quickly finished the injection and began rubbing Tim's arm hard from the wrist up to his forearm. The pain from that movement caused Tim's reverie to be shattered and for him to pull away from an unyielding adoptive father. His sore throat found itself as he exclaimed scratchily, "That hurts!"

Bruce responded by tilting his head to the side and continuing his movements. Just when Tim thought he couldn't handle another second of the pressured rubbings, a warm tingling was suddenly throughout his pained body. The feeling began beneath Bruce's hands, but then rippled up through his chest, down his back, through his other arm, and into his legs. The extreme pain that had greeted him upon consciousness quickly faded into a soft, lulled, warm feeling that began to pull his mind from reality. Tim felt his congested breathing slow.

Bruce stopped his rubbing and lowered Tim's arm onto the bed. "Better?" He asked, sounding like he was concerned.

Tim allowed him a slight nod, beginning to relax into unconsciousness. As the world grew dark and more cocooning, Tim asked wearily with a raspy whisper, "Fluffy?"

Bruce's voice responded with no hesitation. "Very."

Tim smiled as the world completely went black.

* * *

From the Authoress: More, for you, my readers. Kudos and shout-outs to the reviewers and those that have yet to review. Special notice goes to JaxWin, Emmetluver, and Willowleaf2560-- you guys are stellar!


	11. Final Toxins' Death

Alfred came up beside Bruce as he finished with Tim, the teen sinking into a deep sleep, thanks to the painkiller that Bruce had administered to him. He handed the rueful Bruce the items he had requested: a newly wet, cool rag, and a new clean sheet.

Bruce accepted them, first covering Tim with the extra sheet, then taking the rag from Alfred, folded it and placed it on the teen's forehead.

"That went well." Alfred commented.

Bruce breathed out through his nose. Not saying anything, he met Alfred's eyes once and then focused on Tim. He monitored the rag on Tim's forehead, and whenever it would get the slightest bit warm, he would rewet it and put it back. Tim didn't move.

* * *

It was nearing six o'clock in the evening when Alfred brought dinner for Bruce, and, sitting it on the table, encouraged him to switch places with him so that he could eat.

Bruce was so engrossed in monitoring the youth's temperature and rest, that it took a few tries before he gave in.

Alfred was pleased with Bruce's protectiveness. He took Bruce's station beside Tim's bed while the Batman sat down slowly and ate sparingly.

"Sir," Alfred chided. "I worked hard on those green beans. They all deserve to be consumed."

Mid-bite, Bruce paused and looked up at the old butler. He then slowly ate the bite and looked down at the green beans. He had not touched them. They did look good… it was just…

Alfred let out a sigh. "Ah, the age-old fight over the vegatables." He said mostly to himself. Then he told the Batman, "Just eat what you are able, Master Bruce."

Bruce put down his fork and stared at Alfred. "I'm full."

"You mean you aren't hungry."

"Same difference, isn't it?" Bruce asked, crossing his muscular arms.

"Not at all." Alfred said, "But for you, I will make an exception."

* * *

Bruce had Alfred prepare the bedroom across from his own upstairs in the mansion. He hoped that he would be able to move Tim upstairs to more comfortable quarters soon. Bruce had picked the bedroom across from his, not because he intended to sleep in his own bed, but rather so that when Tim was feeling better, he would be nearby Bruce while his mentor slept off the round-the-clock care that he was expending.

While waiting for Alfred, Bruce decided that it was time to do a check on his sidekick's blood. Again.

Thanks to the mixture of pain relievers that Tim had coursing through his veins, it would be a simple task to draw blood from the teen. Bruce went about it at a simple pace, taking care to not make much noise.

The teen didn't stir at all through the entire process.

Bruce Wayne wearily ran one hand through his hair after putting the blood sample into the Batcave's Medical computer. The computer hummed dutifully at him, going through each bit of Tim's blood with utmost deligence.

When the computer finally beeped its findings, Bruce was surprised to find that he had been staring into the darkness of the Batcave for a long while.

Gathering himself, the Batman looked over the computer's findings. He was pleased to find that Tim's blood was clear of the toxins that Poison Ivy had shared with him.

"Good." Bruce said under his breath. He felt relieved.

Turning back to the sleeping teen, the Batman began the careful business of readying his sidekick for the move upstairs.

* * *

From the Authoress: Alright. There. One step closer to ending this thing. I did have 3 more chapters planned. Lol, it got so discouraging to me that it took me 1.5 YEARS to get the toxins out of Robin's system. Maybe I can do better at getting him well. Maybe.


	12. Upstairs Move

Bruce made sure that when he picked up Tim off of the medical table, he was as gentle as possible. He stood for a moment to be sure that he had the teen secure, in which time the teen leaned into him, obviously not bothered by being picked up in his drugged state. Bruce half-smiled, wondering briefly if he had administered too much of the pain-killers to his sidekick. Tim usually wasn't cool with being carried. At all.

Stifling the amusing thoughts, Bruce started up to the elevator that would take him up to Wayne Manner.

* * *

Alfred was waiting at in the hallway on the 2nd Floor on the west end. The bedroom Bruce had picked for Tim was the one that was closest to his own room, leaving a short distance to be traveled between rooms.

Bruce came up the massive, grand stairs at a medium pace. Alfred was relieved to see that the teen was sound asleep in his arms. Bruce was carrying Tim easily, as if carrying people is what he did all day. Alfred knew that it wasn't far from the truth-- the amounts of people that the Batman was carrying every night. The butler had seen it before, but again he was convinced that Bruce Wayne was indeed in good shape. The poor bad guys didn't stand a chance. Ever.

Bruce carried Tim before Alfred into the massive bedroom that was softly lit for the evening-time. Alfred followed closely to assist with the bed sheets. The room was one of the more plainly-decorated ones in the Wayne Mansion, but it was still luxurious. It had a king-sized, massive four-post bed, complete with navy sheets and a navy and gold comforter. Alfred had placed the decreative pillows at the foot of the bed on the floor. On both sides of the bed were large nightstands, both with gold lamps. On the nightstand to the left of the bed, Alfred had placed all of the items that they had been using to treat Tim, including the injections and ice water. The room had a small sitting area by the west windows, showing off two large, dark brown leather chairs, both with navy and gold pillows at their sides on the floor, and a small, goldish marble table. The wardrobes in the room were dark cherry wood. And the windows were covered with large, velvety, navy blue curtains, which were pulled closed due to the time of night outside. The room's walls were painted in upper and lower halves: the upper half being painted a medium navy, the lower half being painted with the darkest possible navy. The room's ceiling height were like all of those on the 2nd floor: fifteen-feet tall. A oil-rubbed bronze pendant light hung, unlit, with shadowed glass. All of the trim in the room was painted gold. The floor was dark wood. In the center of the room, and being under the end of the bed, was a gold and brown circle rug. An identical rug was in the sitting area, as well.

Bruce carried Tim directly to the left side of the bed, to the area where Alfred had pulled back the massive covers. He gently laid the unconscious teen down on the plush, soft bed. Tim sank into the pillows, unwaking. Bruce withdrew his arms out from under the teen slowly.

Alfred stood back, waiting to see if Bruce would require anything from him.

The man who was known as the Batman didn't seem to need anything at the moment. As he was still standing over the teen, Bruce felt his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand, then flipping it over and feeling it again. He then brushed Tim's bangs away from his face and began to carefully cover the teen with the sheet and light-weight cover that was above it in the overlay of bedcovers.

As Bruce was straightening up, Tim moved a bit, causing Alfred and Bruce to stop and watch him. He seemed to become more comfortable on the bed and fall deeper into rest. Bruce noticed silently that now his ward was breathing through his mouth, a sure sign that congestion was forming. He would probably have to give the teen cold and flu medicine later in the night.

Bruce moved away from Tim's sleeping figure, heading for the hallway. He knew that Alfred was following him.

The two men stopped right outside the door.

Bruce said to Alfred in a low voice, "He's getting congested… I'm going to need most of the cold and flu medications that we keep in the stores."

"Most?" Alfred responded in an equally low voice.

Bruce allowed himself a half-smile. Alfred's tone was pointing out that he was being to cautious in his directions. The older man wanted him to be blunt. "Don't bring any that are made for children… Please."

Alfred nodded. "Anything else?"

Bruce Wayne thought about it for a second. His eyes staring at the floor for a moment before shaking his head. "No."

"Very good." Alfred left, headed for the stairway.

Bruce returned into the room. Tim was still sound asleep. He walked to the sitting area in the room and picked up one of the large, dark brown leather chairs and moved it to the left side of Tim's bed, close to the night stand, leaving two feet of room between the chair and the bed. He looked over the teen one more time and then sank into the chair. Bruce didn't allow himself to become comfortable, just in case he needed to jump up. As he got lost in staring at the sleeping teen, he waited for Alfred.

* * *

About the time that Alfred was returning with a large basket of medicine, both tablets and liquid, Bruce was standing up to check Tim's temperature again. In the twenty minutes that had expired since Bruce had sat down, the teen had started moving more in his sleep. Bruce had guessed that it wasn't pain that was causing Tim to become restless.

As Alfred sat the basket of cold and flu medications on the last clear area on the nightstand, Bruce was locating the Thermatix thermometer that was on the nightstand. The Thermatix would tell him exactly what the teen's temperature was by simply being traced across his forehead.

Bruce found the small device and turned it on. It beeped once, quietly, and then showed a "ready" screen. He slowly sat down on the bed next to Tim, five inches from the teen's waist, and barely moving the bed. He reached forward and brought the metal sensor across Tim's forehead gently. As he lifted it away, the Thermatix beeped again, causing Tim to stir a bit. Bruce stayed still until the boy had settled. He then looked at the reading. 103.8.

He knew that bringing down Tim's temperature held a high probability of waking the teen. While he thought through the pros and cons of such an action, Bruce placed the Thermatix on the nightstand and retrived the stethoscope. He quietly put in the earpieces and listened to Tim's breathing. The boy's breathing was slightly raspy, signaling the presence of congestion. He knew that the congestion was nowhere near being in Tim's lungs, rather it was present in his nose and throat. He would need to be sure and keep it that way.

The thought stopped Bruce as he brought the stethoscope back. He was being rather protective over his sidekick who was probably now dealing with a simple cold or flu. The idea of how this would look to Tim, himself, when he would awaken was almost enough for Bruce to rethink staying the night in the teen's room. A momentary flashback of the desperation in Tim's eyes in the midst of his inability to breathe pierced through the hero's mind. No. He would stay. There were too many different things that could happen. Even if he was ridiculed later by Tim, or Alfred, he would handle it with indifference.

His mind made up, the Batman unmasked carefully gathered a rag from the ice water container that Alfred had placed on the nightstand. He squeezed out the excess cold water and folded it. Moving the covers back, Bruce slowly brought the cold rag along Tim's sweaty forehead. The teen seemed to do the opposite of what the adoptive dad expected, appearing to fall into deeper sleep, being comforted somehow by the iciness. Seeing that the cold wasn't waking Tim, Bruce traced over the young man's face, neck, and upper chest with the rag.

As Bruce continued, Alfred asked softly, "You won't be sleeping tonight, Sir?"

Bruce answered lowly, "No, Alfred." He looked over toward the old butler. "Don't worry about us. I'll need you ready to watch him tomorrow."

"Very good, Sir." Alfred moved to straighten the covers that were at the foot of the bed. "I'll be sure to "hit the hay" at a decent hour."

Bruce half smiled, recalling all of the discussions over the years between he and Alfred about going to bed at "a decent hour." Somehow, even when he would be taking a break from the nightly rigors of the Batman, Alfred STILL could not get Bruce to head to bed at an early time. Perhaps due to Bruce's habit of sleeping during the morning. Perhaps due to Bruce's unwillingness to cave to Alfred's desires-- and maybe just to irk the old butler to no end. Bruce's half-smile became a full smile for a moment, before thoughts of Tim took over again.

He finished with the rag that he had been using, finding that all of the cool had left the cloth. He put the rag back into the ice water container. Bruce then felt Tim's skin with the back of his hand. After checking three times on Tim's chest, face, and forehead, he decided that he could leave Tim's fever alone for a time.

Bruce moved back into the chair and relaxed. Alfred left the room to tend to chores.

* * *

Note From the Authoress: Thank you, reviewers, for getting me back on track to finish this. Special shout outs to 101spacemonkey and Ms. Fairweather. (Monkey, please forgive the fluff. I so am a fluffy person. T_T) Thanks for reading!


	13. Horrors Sneak Through

Tim tiredly awoke to the sound of Bruce calling him from afar. He blinked the haze out of his eyes; it was stubborn to leave him. He was called again… "Tim!" Bruce's voice was calling from the hallway?

Sitting up slightly, Tim realized that he was in the black/ leather room that was on the third floor. He didn't recall moving into the room. Why was he here?

"Tim."

Tim gasped at the sudden change in Bruce's voice: now it was his darkest "Batman" voice. And suddenly the Batman was standing in front of him. Tim moved back slightly, not wanting to be afraid of the hero, but not being able to stifle the sudden terror that was gripping his chest. Why was he so afraid of Batman being in his room?

The Batman was standing at the ready. Almost as if thinking that Tim was going to try to escape him. Tim didn't realize how dark the room quickly became, but it was dark with barely any light now.

"Batman?" Tim heard his voice say, thankfully devoid of the fear he was experiencing.

"Tim." The Batman's voice said back, his voice slightly off. It was… it was… Tim felt his heart pounding in his chest. The Batman was using his menacing voice. It was a voice he had NEVER directed at his sidekick. What was going on? Was the Batman okay? The Batman spoke again using the same voice, "You will never be Robin if you don't get over your fears."

The teen tried not to shrink back. His memories of his first few months of training flooded into his mind, overcoming his normally sturdy walls, reminding him of the icy side of the Batman that he had endured to gain the title that he'd wanted so very badly. The Batman had put him through boot-camp Hades to try and persuade him that he didn't want to be Robin. He had already proven himself. He was Robin now. Was the Batman going to make him work for it again? Tim's heart continued to fill his ears with pounding. Surely he wasn't talking about his one fear… the one that he couldn't help… Surely…

At that moment, the Batman brought something into view that froze Tim's blood: a large needle and syringe.

It wouldn't have been so bad if it had been Alfred. It wouldn't have been so bad if Tim hadn't been awoken in the middle of the night. It wouldn't have been so bad if he didn't want _so badly _to prove that he _could_ be Robin. But somehow, it was worse. Horribly worse. Tim knew it and felt it as he moved back, away from his adoptive father: he couldn't escape the Batman. He couldn't. He was trapped. His Aichmophobia reaction started to go crazy before the Batman took a step toward him: his breathing quickening, his hot tears forming, clenching his teeth as hard as he could. He desperately wondered if this would last all night or if the Batman would stop when he passed out.

The Batman approached him with no hesitation.

* * *

Bruce had seen the makings of a nightmare on Tim's sweaty form long moments before it hit. The teen's eyes had begun tracking back and forth behind his eyelids, his breathing speeding up substantially, and his form moving under the covers more and more. He stood and was at Tim's side in an instant, standing over him, taking his shoulders.

"Tim?" Bruce said to the teen.

The young man became more restless. Now moving about fiercely and holding his breath every so often.

"Tim!" Bruce shook the teen slightly. "Timothy!" Bruce raised his voice.

Tim continued to be trapped in whatever horrors had him in his fevered world. He thrashed about, kicking and pulling. Bruce stayed with him, trying not to bruise the teen, but keeping him from hurting himself.

"Tim, wake up!" Bruce said loudly. "Timothy!

The teen curled up slightly before pulling away hard, bringing up his hands to futilely protect himself, at the same time taking in a breath, then screaming it out.

Bruce felt chilled. The scream wasn't anything he had ever heard from the boy. It was _absolute terror_. Urgency took hold of Bruce's heart. He HAD to wake him! He was being tortured in his nightmares.

"Tim!" Bruce tried again, this time louder. "Wake UP!"

Tim thrashed more and screamed again. He kept pulling and kicking, curling up and bringing up his hands. Bruce held on, thinking of any way that he could to wake his ward.

"Sir?!" Alfred's voice came above the frightened cries that the teen was making now.

"Alfred, the cold rag!" Bruce called to the old butler who he didn't look up to see. He kept holding onto Tim. He was certain that his hands were leaving bruises now. "Put it on his chest!"

Alfred did what was requested of him in moments. He placed the rag on Tim's chest and held it there.

The teen let out a cry that was different from his others, seeming startled.

Bruce used the moment to bring back his quieter, gentler voice, "Timothy, wake up… Tim…"

Tim seemed to respond to his voice, quieting and stilling.

Bruce continued softly coaxing the teen to awaken, "It's okay, Tim… Wake up… That's it…"

Tim opened his eyes. The young man gathered who was above him and that he was being restrained. Bruce then saw it fill Tim's green eyes completely. The 'it' was the terror. It was the same look that the Batman had seen on the faces of countless criminals after being cornered by the Dark Knight. HE had made them afraid.

The teen, with Bruce standing above him, holding his arms down to the bed, didn't seem to know whether to scream, struggle, or burst into tears. Tears were already overflowing in Tim's frightened and pained eyes.

Bruce understood instantly. The nightmare's antagonist had been none other than the Batman himself. The guilt stabbed him and hurt more than anything that Bruce thought possible. He inhaled as he decided what he would be doing. He wasn't the Batman right now. He was Tim's father. And he was the only comfort that the teen had left in the world.

Bruce sat down on the side of the bed and pulled the panicking teen up and into his chest, putting his arms around him. He felt Tim stiffen from his fear, but then gradually dissolve into relief at being held. The teen was warm and trembling, his muscles protesting their weariness. Bruce glanced up at Alfred, who stood in his thick silk-sewn robe watching him.

Alfred nodded, assuring Bruce that he had made the right decision, before sitting down in the leather chair beside Tim's bed. The old butler had seen the look on Tim's face upon awakening, also. The fear had been unmistakable.

Bruce tried to be sensitive to whether Tim wanted to pull away from him or not. In doing so, he realized that Tim's trembles had a pattern to them. Tim was sobbing silently against him. The guilt panged in Bruce's heart again. He looked at the bed's headboard and stared hard, willing himself not to give away how uneasy he felt. _Just hold on. _Alfred's chiding over Bruce and a young Dick Grayson returned to his mind. _Just hold on. _Bruce breathed in and out, and, rededicating himself to helping Tim, held on.


	14. Comfort's Face

It took nearly twenty minutes for Tim to calm completely. During which time, Alfred went to the kitchen to get water for the teen to drink, and a few boxes of tissues.

When Tim attempted to pull back from Bruce, he struggled to do it himself.

Bruce noticed that his ward's muscles were still shaky at the slightest exertion. He knew that it was a mixture of the physical, emotional, and mental output that Tim had extended over the last three days compounded with the painkiller drugs that were still coursing through his veins.

Bruce helped the teen lay back on several pillows. He took the wet rag and placed it back in the ice water. Bruce then covered Tim with the sheet and the light, thin cover on top of it.

Alfred came up and handed Tim the tissues, letting the boy slowly wipe his face off and blow his congested nose. Alfred followed that with helping Tim drink some water.

As Tim drank with Alfred's help, Bruce watched him. Whatever horrible thing the Batman had been doing to the teen in his nightmare, it had faded away and Tim seemed to have separated the fiction from reality. When Alfred had moved out of the way, Bruce took the opportunity to find the Thermatix and ready it for taking Tim's temperature.

As the advanced thermometer beeped it was ready, Bruce sat on the bed next to Tim.

Tim's eyelids were beginning to droop, his green eyes showing the effects of the drugs again. The teen looked at Bruce for a few seconds while Bruce traced the Thermatix across his forehead, before closing his eyes in exhaustion.

The Thermatix readout showed 103.5. Bruce figured that there had been a spike in his temperature that had caused the nightmare. The teen's temperature seemed to be stable for the moment. Bruce looked down at Tim and found his ward had fallen asleep, breathing softly through his mouth.

Handing the Thermatix to Alfred, Bruce stood and searched for Tim's arms under the covers. Upon finding one, Bruce examined where he had held him tightly to the bed above his elbow. There were pink areas on the teen's skin. He found the same thing on Tim's other arm. They were definitely pre-bruise areas. Again, Bruce felt guilty.

"It couldn't be helped, Sir." Alfred said quietly from the foot of the bed, watching him and understanding that Bruce was blaming himself.

Bruce didn't reply to Alfred, receiving his wisdom silently, as was his custom to. Alfred was rarely wrong. Bruce carefully tucked Tim's arms back under the covers. Before standing upright, Bruce stroked Tim's sweaty bangs off of his forehead. Tim didn't move, sleeping soundly now. He was glad for that.

Straightening, and looking at Alfred, he allowed his tense muscles to relax. He breathed in and out and put his hands on his hips, allowing his shoulders to square. He gathered himself emotionally and mentally in seconds. His non-verbal comments were not lost on the old butler: You can go now. Things are fine here.

Alfred gave Bruce Wayne a half-smile. "Well then. I'm returning to bed, Master Bruce." Alfred said, turning and heading for the door. "You know where to find me, should you require me."

Bruce took a few slow steps away from Tim's bed toward the sitting area. "Alfred." He said quietly to the far wall.

Alfred stopped in the doorway and looked back at him.

Bruce looked at him and said evenly, "Thanks."

The butler gave a smile, and then a smooth, gentlemanly nod of acknowledgment before leaving.

The adoptive father walked to the far wall in the room, thinking. Remembering. The flu. As a young teen, Alfred had cared for him tirelessly when he used to be down with the flu. Always. Alfred had even cared for Bruce's ward the few times that young Dick Grayson had been down with the virus. Bruce had let him. He didn't know the slightest thing about being caring and healing. The monks of Mongolia had been willing to teach him, but it was a part of their Order that he hadn't cared to learn. For shame.

Bruce looked across the room at Tim. His form dwarfed by the huge bed and massive covers. Resting. Resting soundly. REST. Bruce realized something in that moment. He had been trying to give something to Tim for as long as he had known him… He had been trying to give him rest. A chance to be at peace… A chance to not be like the other two… To be normal. But Tim's nature was different. He didn't want to walk a path of peace. He wanted to walk the path of _sacrifice._ He was willing to sacrifice himself for the benefit of others. He found purpose in it. The other two hadn't been so pure. Maybe that was why. He was constantly trying to get Tim to rest because he felt Tim deserved it. Tim did deserve it. It was Tim who had managed to get through to his hardened heart, piercing through his protective walls. The other two had begun with a Bruce Wayne/Batman who had wanted and needed them. Tim had begun with a billionaire/hero who wanted nothing to do with him. Tim had done what the other two couldn't have ever done.

Bruce realized he was scowling at Tim's resting figure. He looked toward the window in partial embarrassment that his own thoughts just surfaced to his features so easily. His thoughts were condemning. Here he was, thinking to himself that he accepted Tim, and perhaps _favored_ Tim, over his other two adopted sons. And he had _tried_ to get rid of Tim. He'd tried almost every way that he could think of that wouldn't leave the boy scarred for life. Tim's persistence and patience had won over his hard heart, and now, here they were. The Batman trying to heal his sidekick, Robin.

He exhaled, feeling defeated somehow in all of this, and looked over at Tim. The one who deserved this the least. At least you're resting now. Bruce thought toward Tim. Stay that way for awhile, would you?

Silence filled the room.

For the next hour, Bruce walked around the room, still thinking. Watching and checking on Tim as needed.

He eventually ended up back in the chair beside Tim's bed, watching the sleeping teen breathe. It was the only way to get his head to shut up.


	15. Inventory

Tim's world was both hot and cold and painful when he woke up. Not to mention his sore throat and clogged nose. Both breathing and swallowing were difficult. He moved his limbs slightly, trying to become more comfortable. All that accomplished was bringing the pain in his back, arms, and legs to the forefront of his mind. His eyes were watery and gross, making it hard to see in the low light. Where was he? He couldn't remember anything. He groaned without meaning to.

"Tim?" Bruce's voice was quiet and to his right. "Take it easy. You have the flu."

As Tim worked to make his eyes look at Bruce, he found his neck was sore, as well. He swallowed again, the scratchiness hurting more than anything else. Sleep seemed like a good idea now. Why had he woken? Everything hurt! He finally managed to look at Bruce.

Bruce was sitting in a chair next to the bed he was in, leaning towards him, looking concerned. "Are you in pain?" Bruce asked him.

Tim breathed in, blinked watery eyes, and said scratchily, "Yes."

Bruce nodded once. "Okay. Give me a run-down of pain levels. Scale of one to five. One is nonexistent. Five is death levels. Head?"

"Three." Tim answered him.

"Throat?"

"Four."

"Limbs?" Bruce continued.

"Four." Tim kept up, bringing a hand up to wipe his eyes.

"Back?"

"Four? Maybe getting close to five…"

Bruce handed a few tissues to Tim to wipe his eyes with. "Stomach?"

"One." Tim said, taking the tissues and wiping his eyes with them.

"Chest?"

"Two."

Bruce thought for a moment then said, "Throwing in one for a future cough that hasn't hit yet, that puts you at twenty."

Tim shivered as he listened to Bruce. Through the heat, he was chilled. He didn't know when it had started, but he was already tired of it.

"So your options are this. One, I drug your pain and give you a decongestant, which will make you pass out, or, two, I simply give you some over-the-counter flu medication which might possibly make you pass out, or, three, I leave you alone."

Tim thought over the options and said the first thing that came to mind. "How about you do all three?"

The faint smile that came across Bruce's face made the next batch of chills less bothersome. The small joke had obviously helped Bruce lighten up.

The chills didn't desist, however. Their intensity grew instead moment by moment. Tim let a groan slip out. He rolled over onto his right side, facing Bruce, trying to get the pain to stop. He felt miserable.

Bruce's smile vanished. He stood and leaned over the nightstand getting some items. "All… three…" He repeated quietly to himself.

Tim listened to him get the items he was looking for. Time passed in his sickly head both slowly and quickly. He couldn't stand the beating of his heart in his ears. It marked seconds like a massive, annoying drum.

Before he know it, Bruce was in front of him trying to get him to sit up so he could drink down a small medicine cup full of reddish liquid. Tim struggled with his muscles to do what Bruce asked. His body screaming at him, he sat, holding himself up with a shaky arm, and took the liquid, which burned slightly when he drank it. Bruce then had him drink some water. He drank a few sips of it, finding it was too painful to keep drinking. Bruce didn't seem concerned as he took the glass away from him.

"Lay down and get comfortable." Bruce told him.

Tim was happy to do as he asked. Laying down definitely felt the best to him. The chills had left him, but now he felt achy and exhausted. Laying on the bed felt good to his back and neck.

Bruce brought a damp cloth with him as he sat next to Tim's waist on the bed. He held it up for Tim to see. "I'm going to put this over your nose and mouth. I want you to breath the medication that's on it."

Tim nodded wearily. If Bruce thought this would help, he was willing to try anything.

Bruce gently draped the cloth over his nose and mouth. The fabric didn't make Tim feel like he was suffocating, so he breathed as deeply as he could through his mouth.

Almost instantly, the teen found his world going black.

* * *

Bruce watched as Tim lost consciousness. He removed the cloth from Tim's face.

It was a dirty trick. But it worked. Always. In the twenty-two times he had had to use it, Tim had never remembered a thing. He always did what he was asked willingly, as if he didn't remember the fact that he had been drugged this way before.

A blessed part of the "special" injection kit he had created for Tim's benefit years ago. Bruce almost smiled to himself ruefully. Yet another way that he had found to bring Tim rest.

He brought up a syringe, full of pain reliever, that he had kept hidden from Tim. It was time for the next dose, but he hadn't wanted Tim to panic at all. His body and mind needed rest. Bruce put the injection down on the bed. He picked up Tim's right hand and searched it carefully. Finding one of the last few places on the back of Tim's hand that hadn't been stuck already, Bruce picked up the injection and slowly slid it into his vein and emptied it.

Tim grimaced in his unconsciousness. Bruce noticed and, after laying the empty syringe down, rubbed the teen's arm, hard at first, and then softening the pressure.

Tim seemed to relax. Bruce continued to rub his arm until he was sure that the pain relievers were no longer burning his adopted son.

Once he was sure Tim was deeply resting, he took the teen's temperature with the Thermatix. Bruce was relieved to find it at 102.8.

He stood and covered the young man again, then sat down in the leather chair.

Tim would be asleep until morning. He had no doubt.

Bruce settled back in the chair. He returned to watching Tim breathe slowly. They were not too far from dawn.


	16. The Aftermath

Alfred awoke promptly at six-thirty in the morning. The old butler readied himself for the day in his usual way, recounting what had happened in the last four days. The Batman had left. Robin had handled things valiantly while he was away. Then Robin became ill, thanks to Poison Ivy and whatever else. The Batman had returned quickly. Robin's illness was treated by the Batman, and now they were getting a little rest in shifts.

Ah, but then the nightmare last night. Alfred reminded himself as he combed through his grey hair. Now he wondered if Bruce had been able to keep the teen resting all night, or if it had been… _eventful_.

Alfred left his bedchambers, closing the massive door quietly. He headed directly to the room where young Tim Drake was resting.

He approached the door at his normal pace, as he normally approached anything in the Wayne Manner. With two heroes living in the large house, it was better to be noisy and relaxed so that their "sixth sense" didn't cause them to react as if a ninja was in the mansion. He might live longer that way, had always been his argument.

Coming through the doorway, Alfred was met with a comforting sight.

Tim was resting on his side in the massive bed, facing Bruce in his chair on the left side of the bed. Both Tim and Bruce were asleep. At least, Alfred assumed that Bruce was asleep. His legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankles on the floor, and his head was propped on his left hand, his elbow on the leather chair's arm. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be breathing peacefully.

Alfred came closer to the duo, and stood next to the bed's lower left post, almost leaning on it as he looked closer at both Bruce and Tim again.

Bruce did appear to be asleep. No doubt that he would wake in minutes of Alfred being in the room. The Batman didn't sleep well when being watched. And Alfred had always assumed that it was "Batman Mode" that Bruce was in while unconscious.

Alfred looked at Tim. The teenager's hair was dry now, to Alfred's happiness. That meant that the young man had been fever-free for at least an hour. Tim was still breathing through his mouth, a sign of congestion. But, he was breathing evenly. He was truly resting well. Even his skin color wasn't has pale as it had been, Tim's cheeks showing a slight blush of pink on them.

Alfred allowed himself a smile. Things were better this morning.

* * *

Bruce felt a presence nearby. He pulled out of his dreamless rest quickly and opened his eyes. His eyes landed on Tim's sleeping form first, then found who it was who had woken him: Alfred Pennyworth.

Alfred stood near the end of the bed, watching him with a hint of a smile on his features. There was no alarm or concern on his face, so Bruce instantly knew that everything was fine.

Bruce moved slowly in the chair and brought his feet back to the normal sitting position. He was surprised that he had fallen asleep. He rubbed a hand over his eyes then looked at Alfred.

Alfred spoke quietly, trying not to disturb the teen. "Would you like to move to your bed, Master Bruce?"

Bruce looked at Tim and then back at Alfred. "No thanks." He grunted. He then repositioned himself in the chair.

"Ah." Alfred said, understanding perfectly that the Batman was contented to stay by his sidekick's side. "I'll prepare breakfast then." Alfred said to himself as much as to Bruce. He headed toward the kitchen. Bruce would not be going anywhere, or sleeping, it seemed, until he was certain that Tim was getting better.

* * *

It was nearing eleven in the morning before the young man showed signs of waking up.

Bruce watched as Tim stretched and opened his eyes. Tim registered everything much faster this time. He looked over at Bruce within a few moments.

"How do you feel?" Bruce asked carefully, watching Tim's every move.

Tim thought about it. Besides the overall flu crumminess, he was feeling okay. "I'm good." He said. A few bits and pieces of being treated for a fever and being unable to breath flashed through his mind, almost as if they were dreams. He even remembered Bruce beside his bed every time he woke up. He thoughtfully looked at Bruce. "Thanks to you." He added quietly.

Bruce looked down for a moment, then returning his eyes to look at Tim's, asked, "What do you remember?"

Tim thought back. He remembered taking care of Gotham for the Batman. He remembered getting the best of a long list of criminals. He remembered saving police officers. And he remembered laying on the Sun Trust roof calling Alfred out of desperation. He had been doing so well. What had happened? Tim answered Bruce, "I called Alfred for help."

"Yes, you did." Bruce said. "What else?"

Beyond that point, Tim realized that his memories all blurred together. He didn't remember how Alfred had helped him. He didn't remember the Batman returning. The faded parts of his memories he wasn't even sure were real. He told Bruce all that he had, "I remember someone putting something freezing on me. And I remember not being able to breathe, but I don't know why. It's really faint. I think I remember you sitting beside me…"

Bruce seemed okay with what Tim was saying.

"Should I remember something else?" Tim asked him carefully.

Bruce shook his head 'no'. "That will do." Bruce leaned toward Tim's bed and put his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands.

Tim knew that Bruce had something else that he wanted to say, so he stayed silent and waited. Finally, Bruce said it.

"You're grounded."

Tim was startled. Shocked. It took a moment for his brain to reason through what he had just heard, and he still didn't get it. Bruce NEVER grounded him. That had been for Dick and Jason. The two that had been a handful since day one. He couldn't remember having Bruce upset at him. Tim worked so hard to do everything perfectly when in the field, and his actions as a "normal" person were almost always above reproach! What had he done?

Bruce paused, then after his words had settled, he continued. "You're going to have to undergo a new set of drills." Bruce saw the fear that was entering Tim's green eyes. He added, "I'm sure this part of your training will be of more benefit to your future than anything I've taught you in the past."

It took a second for Tim to find his voice. "On what?" He asked, his voice sounding calm, but his heart feeling other things that weren't at all.

Bruce realized quickly that Tim must be thinking some horrible things in his head. He softened his voice a tad and gave Tim a half-smile, "On battling the Unseen Enemy."

Tim's fear was replaced with a mixture of concern and confusion. "'The Unseen Enemy'?" He repeated. He thought through every piece of criminal knowledge in his head and couldn't find any clues to what on earth Bruce was talking about. He waited.

Bruce gave him a nod. "The Unseen Enemy. Also known as, No Sleep."

For the next few moments, the light dawned on Tim. The fear and concern and confusion disappeared from his features. He then smiled softly and groaned and closed his eyes. Tim understood perfectly. And he had no excuses. Whatever drills the Batman brought out were sure to be annoying, but would get the point across. He wouldn't be depriving himself of rest ever again. Tim couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him.

Bruce allowed himself a smile before toning it down. "We will start as soon as you're well."

Tim opened his eyes, partially smiling. "Can't we just start the drills now?"

Bruce's smile disappeared. "No." He said in mock-seriousness. "You're grounded. Remember?" Bruce stood and stretched the small of his back.

Tim watched him silently, almost disbelieving. Grounding him from training. From training! That was clever. Bruce had grounded him in the only way that would assure getting Tim's attention. Clever.

Bruce walked toward the door and remembered something that he had wanted to say. Not looking back, he switched to his Batman voice and said evenly, "Get some rest, Robin… You deserve it."

_______________________________________

THE END OF THE ATTACK OF THE UNSEEN ENEMY  
_______________________________________


	17. Bonus Features

The Authoress' Notes to the Reader Reading this Right Now…

By now you are either tickled to death at the ending I stuck on this, or you are standing on your desk chair, fist raised, yelling, "Batman injustice!!!" at the way I took artistic liberties on this story. (Hopefully the latter not happening in the midst of a busy Starbucks…) And as much as I'd like to leave you in whatever state you find yourself in, I feel some sort of explanation for my Batman writing-style should be offered. …Kinda like the Bonus Features on your favorite DVD.

So here is the explanation.

I am a fan of The Batman, MY WAY, if you will. I simply cannot exist in happy bliss with Batman the way he was created. I can, however, be quite entertained by a not-as-dark Batman who has more depth than the Comics portray.

This may cause you to go back and read the whole thing over again, but, at the risk of that, here it is: If I could not see Christian Bale saying or thinking something in his portrayal of the Batman, I haven't put it in my story. Every single statement and action in this story from the Batman was based upon THAT Batman.

Likewise, with THE Alfred that's in both "Batman Begins" and "The Dark Knight." THAT is the Alfred I have in here. He is such a good portrayal of Alfred! And _that_ is how old he is. Alfred should never age. He just shouldn't! I know it isn't realistic, but do I sound like I care? Alfred stays the same age as in the movie "Batman Begins." Okay? Okay.

*Notices that she lost half of the readers who go back and start reading from the beginning of her story, looking for the similarities she's talking about. Sighs.*

Okay. Now, Robin. *gleeful laugh* Oh wow, I am an even BIGGER fan of Robin! All of them! …Well, not as much of Jason Todd (the jerk- traitor!). But of the other two, oh yes. I have done research on all of the Robin timelines I could find, and, although I didn't read all of the comics, I have a good understanding of the "real" Robin timelines. Here's the kicker: I just prefer to use them as general guidelines rather than actual rules. (Thank you, Pirates of the Caribbean, for that saying.)

The Confession: Yes! I admit it! I totally took artistic liberties on what the Batman thinks of Robin, on Tim's phobia, and anything else that seemed even a tiny bit fluffy.

The Truth: Yes, I knew the true Batman storyline and I did it anyway. And it made me happy. Yes, it did.

I hope that you have felt something while reading this story. God created you to feel. If you are walking around not feeling anything, you'd better go back to the Author of Life and ask why.

This ends the Bonus material. Feel free to DM me any questions you may still be wrestling with.

Write on.

* * *

Reviewers:

**kathy lee skyler** - My dear, dear reviewer. I hope I have not shattered your Batman World with my fluffiness. And your comparison of my story to a Batman-House form of writing made my day. Thank you!

**go-stevie-go** - Look, your requests for more did not land on deaf ears after all. ^_^ Thank you for continually coming back to encourage me on! Hope you thought the ending was alright.

**Rea92** - I hope you remember who my writing style reminds you of. I'd love to know I'm not the only crazy one who writes like this...

**Ms. Fairweather** - If I can wrangle the softer side of the Batman out, I will! I love it, too. As for the interaction between the three? It goes so naturally when writing- Tim is nothing more than the middle on the scale of Batman's-to-Alfred's point of views. Did that make sense? Hm. Perhaps not. Anyway, glad you liked it!

**101spacemonkey** - To the GREATEST Super-Reviewer of them all! You reviewed every SINGLE chapter and, in doing so, helped me finish this thing! *bows to you Japanese style* Thank you so very much!

**SUPRNTRAL_LVR** - Again, sorry for the delays! Hope you liked the ending!

**talk-ape** - Hehe, yeah, only took me forever. But now it's done! Yes!

**CordeliaHunter** - Yeah. I wonder if Tim will ever hear EVERYTHING that Bruce wanted to say in this story. I sure hope so!

**JaxWin** - Thank you for all of the great reviews! Your motivation was helpful!

**Wandering Raccoon** - Your grammar and spelling checks are divine! Thank you so much for all of your reviews! I hope you were pleased with the ending. (If not, tell me gently! Lol!)

**And to YOU!** - If you are still reading this and you review my story **_right now_**, I will DM you with comments back. Hope you enjoyed!

^_^


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